


Explosives and Diamonds/The Reckoning

by hidingupatreeorsomething



Series: On the Shore of the Wide World Series [7]
Category: Homeland
Genre: F/M, Quax, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:00:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 20,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22630669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hidingupatreeorsomething/pseuds/hidingupatreeorsomething
Summary: UPDATED -The Reckoning – Chapter 5 – The ReckoningQuinn goes back to the VA and finally takes an honest look at his past - and his future.It's been a while but finally came back to finish this work!More from theOn the Shore of the Wide WorldAU. You don’t need to have read anything else in the series to follow this one. In Explosive and Diamonds, Quinn and Max go on a high-stakes road trip. In The Reckoning, Quinn has to deal with the aftermath.
Relationships: Julia Diaz/Peter Quinn, Julia Diaz/Peter Quinn/John Jr. (Homeland), Max (Homeland) & Peter Quinn, Peter Quinn/John Jr. (Homeland)
Series: On the Shore of the Wide World Series [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/840123
Comments: 41
Kudos: 14





	1. Explosives and Diamonds - Chapter 1 - The Key

**Author's Note:**

> Previously in the On the Shore of the Wide World AU: Quinn survived New York and Dar got him out in secret to a new life. He [went to find Julia and Johnny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570763/chapters/25997913), after many bumps in the road settled back with them and [had another kid, Katy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16213391). Eventually [confessed to Carrie that he was still alive](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12250818). Turned out [Max knew all along](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570763/chapters/27648156), had helped Dar set up Quinn’s new life. So now Quinn lives in Philly, trying to navigate the journey from black ops assassin to family man, learning to live with the physical and mental after effects of the stroke and shooting. He [found a new niche as a para sports shooter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504904/chapters/45527869). Finally revealed to the world that he was still alive, by [giving a fundraising talk for the PTSD charity that had helped him.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504904/chapters/45300298#workskin)

_Life is good. The kids are thriving. Julia and Quinn love family life together – after a decade apart, coping with single parenthood and the CIA, the sense of having an ally, a companion, a permanent back-up, is deeply fulfilling for both of them. Quinn’s ailments – physical and mental – persist, but he has ways of dealing with them, a team at the hospital he can check in with when things swing out of control. His new role, as a competitive marksman with the local para sports team, gives him the buzz of his old life, with none of the trauma._

_And as that old life recedes ever further into the past, the idea he used to kill people for a living seems at times impossible in these sweet suburban surroundings. Life is coming into line. He even hits up Max to sort out some financial loose ends from his time in the CIA, every inch the responsible father. Has no idea how Max does it and doesn’t ask – suspects he has a direct line to Saul, whose residual guilt over his Berlin awakening assures all requests regarding Quinn are swiftly granted. Eventually Max comes to visit when Quinn’s home alone, tells him everything is done. It feels like the closing of a chapter._

_And so Quinn sits down with Julia in the kitchen, a fat cardboard file in front of them. A file full not just of bank accounts, but of his dark past, now transformed into a bright future for his family._

QUINN – Right. I wanna show you what I have.

JULIA – OK. I mean… I can do the same for you. Show you some time. Mine’s not much to show. Pension, mortgage, the usual stuff.

QUINN – That’s fine. Another time. Can you help me?

_She pulls the sheaf of papers out of the cardboard file he’s holding, numerous bundles neatly clipped together. He takes the first set of papers from the pile and sets it out on the table._

QUINN – So. I get a VA disability pension. It’s not a lot, but I’ve been banking it for a while now. Max called me a while back, told me he’d been working on something better, would come my way shortly. So now I get a very generous CIA pension on top of the veteran’s disability check. That’s what I live off, the CIA money.

And then there’s other stuff that kind of... appeared. After Berlin. New York.

JULIA – Appeared? Do I wanna know about this?

QUINN – You may as well. I did a will, so I get another stroke and drop dead tomorrow, it’s yours.

JULIA – _Don’t,_ Johnny!

_She’s shocked, but also slightly angry that he’s said that._

QUINN – Well... _(he shrugs)_ I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about that. Could happen. Point is, you and the kids are fine if it does.

_She suddenly lifts her hand to his on the table. Holds it. She’s thought about it too, losing him, but to hear it said aloud hurts her physically. They look one another in the eyes a moment. He squeezes her hand. Looks back at his papers. Takes his hand and smooths the page in front of him. There’s a pause._

QUINN – So when Dar got me out, he set a lot of things up. I didn’t look at most of it for a while, but turns out he did pretty well by me. Well... by David Exley originally, but Max sorted all that.

JULIA – He did?

QUINN – All my money now belongs to John Quinn.

JULIA – And David?

QUINN – Another one on the body pile of my life, him and Peter. Few others.

_She shakes her head._

QUINN – So listen.

_As he talks about each stash, he lays out a new set of papers._

QUINN – There’s a hundred grand in this account.

JULIA – A hundred _grand_?! Where from?

QUINN – You really wanna know?

JULIA – Probably not.

QUINN – He tried to make me disappear once before - Dar did. Around the time Astrid died. Set me up with a hundred grand bank account and a roll of cash. Didn’t work out that way, I didn’t feel like disappearing. But I asked Max to check, and the money was still there. So now it’s mine.

JULIA – You did pretty well out of Dar.

QUINN – I didn’t want to. Obvious reasons. Only lived off the VA cash at first. Hence that shitty little apartment I was in when I first moved here. But then when you suggested me moving in next door, I wanted it so much, I thought - fuck it, I have the cash - that was from another fund, by the way -

JULIA – Oh Jesus.

QUINN – It’s fine, all above board. Max…

JULIA – …Sorted it?

QUINN – Yup. Seriously. The CIA has ways… of straightening things out. You don’t have to worry. It’s all legal. Now.

Anyway. I did a lot of thinking, sat in that apartment, and I thought... fuck it. I earned all of this. Paid with my health, did everything he ever asked of me. If it means I can provide for my family, I’m gonna take every fucking penny I’m owed.

But I didn’t touch the hundred grand. That’s for the kids, whatever. I bought the house out of my float from my days in the group. Always had quick access to a very substantial fund.

JULIA – For....?

QUINN – Bribes, weapons, hiring… _(he looks for the word... doesn’t want to admit to hiring mercenaries at this neat suburban kitchen table, pretends his pause is down to aphasia rather than moral turbulence, eventually settles on another phrase)..._ people in the field. Emergency flights.

JULIA – I’m guessing you’re not talking American Airlines.

_He smirks._

QUINN – Helicopters, private planes, that kind of shit.

JULIA – Jesus.

QUINN – Only in emergencies.

JULIA – Of course...

_She shakes her head in disbelief._

QUINN – Anyway. I asked Max to look, my fund was never dissolved.

JULIA – Shouldn’t you pay it back? I don’t want people on my doorstep. I’m a cop.

QUINN – It’s untraceable back to the CIA - once they paid it into my drop account, it was off their books already, they weren’t exactly asking me for receipts. but I still had access. So now it’s mine. Ours. I’m paying tax on the interest, it’s legitimate. Pretty significant tax, actually, IRS fuckers...

_Julia stifles the obvious question - if the tax on the interest is significant, how much is the capital...?_

QUINN – But believe me, trying to pay the CIA back now would cause more trouble than keeping it. For them as well as me. It’s not how it works. It’s a perk. You get out alive with money left in your float, it’s yours. Reward, I guess.

JULIA – So... you bought the house out of that and had money left over?

QUINN – Yup. Float payments to the group were set up to be pretty invisible to the rest of the CIA. Looks like Dar made a large payment from official funds to my float right before he was arrested, so... I mean, you could probably retire if you wanted to.

JULIA – I don’t want to.

QUINN – That’s what I figured.

JULIA – Is that everything?

QUINN – Pretty much. There’s life insurance in here. Copy of the deeds for next door. All that stuff. Self-explanatory.

_He scoops the papers towards him, she picks up the folder so she can hold it open to drop the papers in, but as she does, an envelope drops from it to the table with a metallic clunk. She picks it up, turns it over - sealed at the back, but she can clearly feel a key inside._

_Fuck. He’d meant to give that to Max._

JULIA – What’s that?

_Takes it from her silently, goes to put it back in the folder._

JULIA – I’d rather you told me, Johnny. If you did... if anything happened to you, I’d rather know what I’m dealing with.

_He stares at it a while._

QUINN – I think I’d like to just give this to Max. If you need to... you can call him. He’ll get you what you need and take care of the rest.

JULIA – Fuck me. What is it, Johnny?

QUINN – You shouldn’t know about this. You need to not know. I don’t wanna compromise you.

JULIA – If you’re doing something illegal, I’m compromised already. I’d rather know.

QUINN – It’s not... I’m not... it’s old.

JULIA – What?

Johnny, this is important. What do you have?

_He drums his fingers. Really, REALLY doesn’t want to tell her._

QUINN – You sure you wanna know?

_She raises her eyebrows. He looks at the ceiling a moment. Looks back at her. Doesn’t want to make her mad._

_Hands her the envelope. Talks as she opens it and pulls out the key._

QUINN – Every agent has one. Actually a few. But this is the only one I got left. My fuck off fund. In case I ever needed to burn it down entirely. Go it alone.

JULIA – Money?

QUINN – A lot of money.

_He looks at her._

Some diamonds.

Passports.

JULIA – Plural?

QUINN – Yup.

_He takes a deep breath._

QUINN – A lot of weapons. Explosives.

JULIA – Fucking hell.

QUINN – I told you you didn’t wanna know.

JULIA – And you still have it _why_ , exactly?

_He shrugs._

QUINN – Old habits, I guess. Never got round to dumping it.

JULIA – Seriously? You kept a lock up full of explosives and diamonds just because you never got round to getting rid of it? Bullshit, Johnny, this isn’t an old sweater.

Are you planning on fucking off?

QUINN – No!

JULIA – So why do you have a fuck off fund?

_He shrugs._

QUINN – I always did.

JULIA – Well you don’t now. You have children. I am a police officer. You want me bringing them to visit you in jail while I’m working as a cleaner because I lost my job?

QUINN – That won’t happen. That’s not the way these things work.

JULIA – You’re right it won’t happen. Because you’re getting rid of it. Now. All of it.

QUINN – What, you don’t trust me?

JULIA – Well, should I? This whole time you’ve been playing at happy families, you’ve had a secret cave full of shit so you can fuck off at a moment’s notice, never be found?

QUINN – I’m not fucking off from you.

JULIA – So you don’t need it.

_He stares at the table. She picks up the key._

JULIA – If you don’t call Max to help you get rid of this, I will. And when I speak to him, he will be left with no doubt _at_ _all_ as to what he should do.

_There’s a long, tense silence._

_He prises the key from her finger. Nods._

QUINN – OK. I’ll call Max.


	2. Explosive and Diamonds – Chapter 2 – On the road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, this is now so _obviously_ an AU - Homeland's two most taciturn men, together for 24 hours and exchanging more than two words? Artistic licence all the way. But I guess this is what I like to think they'd be like if they weren't the mute and the hitman.

_Quinn, sitting in a diner, middle of nowhere, staring out the window. The road outside is not too busy, not too quiet. The kind of route he’s driven many times in the past when he wanted to move without trace – a road busy enough he doesn’t stand out, quiet enough he’d spot anyone following them._

_As he sits, out of nowhere, his left arm, in his lap, starts to shake. Without really thinking about it, he holds it down with his right hand – it’ll pass, does this occasionally, not much he can do about it. Muscle spasms and tremors apparently capable of creating movement in his paralysed limb in a way that he can’t do himself._

_Max comes over, places two coffees on the table, slides into the other side._

QUINN – Thanks.

_He has to let go of his left arm to lift the coffee mug, as he does, it starts to tremble again. He glances at it, looks up at Max, half raises an eyebrow, shrugs._

MAX – You OK?

QUINN – Yeah. Happens. It’ll pass. Sorry. Kind of annoying.

MAX – Don’t apologise. Does it hurt?

QUINN – No. Just irritating.

_He swigs his coffee, places his right hand heavily back on his left forearm to hold it down._

MAX – You’re really fucked, right?

QUINN – Oh, yeah. They properly screwed me.

MAX – Wouldn’t blame you for being angry with them.

QUINN – I’m not. Angry. I don’t think.

_Gives Max a rueful half smile._

QUINN – I have a great therapist.

_Max points at his left arm._

MAX – Does that one get in the way when you shoot? Your counterbalance has to be way off, right?

QUINN – I just had to relearn. I strap it up – put it in a sling when I shoot, if it’s across my body it’s a little easier to work with. And I sit when I shoot these days. A lot of core work in the gym, helps me brace.

MAX – You enjoy it?

QUINN – The shooting?

MAX – Yeah.

QUINN – I do. Yeah. It’s…

_He gazes out of the window. Thinks a moment. Looks back at Max._

QUINN – It’s just nice to be good at something again, you know?

I lost everything, for a while there. Couldn’t think straight, couldn’t walk, clumsy, slurred speech, all that shit.

Now when I sit on that stool, I’m in charge. I know I got it.

MAX – We be seeing you at the Paralympics sometime soon?

QUINN – Tryouts for the national squad are next month.

MAX – You gonna make it?

_He stares out, thinks about how to reply. Can’t stop a grin spreading across his face. Looks back at Max._

QUINN – Honest answer? Not the ‘pretending-to-be-modest’ answer?

MAX – Sure.

QUINN – Yup. Dead cert. I can out-shoot pretty much everyone in the country. Most of the regular shooters, actually, certainly the other para shooters. Only way I won’t get on that squad is if I literally have a seizure on my stool.

_Max smiles. Lifts his coffee mug and clinks it against Quinn’s in congratulation._

QUINN – Apparently things you patterned really well before a brain injury can stick best sometimes. All those _(he catches himself, looks casually around to make sure there’s nobody listening in)_ all those hits back in the day stood me in good stead. Some days I gotta get Ju to help me put my socks on because my right hand gets so clumsy. But two hours later, I’m down at the range, look through those sights, and the mist… just clears. Kind of calm. Stillness. Such a good feeling.

MAX – That’s incredible.

QUINN – So don’t cross me, right? I still got it.

_Max smiles. Sips his coffee._

\----

_Outside the diner, in the car. Quinn’s turn to drive. Starts the engine, pulls away, pauses at the entrance to the highway. Waits a fraction of a second longer than a vehicle would normally wait to pull out. And in that split second, checks all the mirrors – looks in the rear-view, reaches up to turn it so he can see a different aspect, puts it back, looks over his shoulder, a rapid sweeping gaze that takes in the entire parking lot. Out to the road ahead of him – no parked cars, nobody standing nearby. Hammers his foot on the pedal and sweeps quickly out into the traffic. Nobody watching. Nobody tracing them._

_Max notices all of this. Quinn really has still got it. Still an operator. He noticed his travel companion didn’t take off his jacket in the diner, though it was warm inside. Probably carrying a weapon. Ready for trouble._

_Waits until they’re up to speed, merged perfectly with the vehicles around them, before he speaks._

MAX – You know, we’ve not actually done anything wrong.

_Quinn’s eyes narrow – still watching the road, not sure what Max means._

MAX – I don’t think we’re being followed. Far as anybody knows, we’re just two guys on a road trip. So far, at least.

QUINN – True.

_A pause. He digests this._

QUINN – True.

_But he doesn’t believe it. Maybe it’s the guilt he feels over betraying Julia’s trust. Maybe it’s the fact he’s done nothing like this since he left the CIA. Or maybe he’s just so well-trained he can’t help it. But in his mind, this is a mission. And he’s fucking sure he’s gonna take every precaution he ever took to complete his mission without interruption._

_He keeps his eyes on the road._

\----

_The hours roll by. The miles roll by._

\----

_Max in the driving seat. They switched after stopping for gas about a half hour ago. They’ve sat in near silence since then. Neither of them small-talkers, both with plenty to think about._

_Quinn’s been staring out the side window, lost in thought. From time to time, he thinks he sees a vehicle he’s seen before. Wonders again if they’re being followed. Reminds himself they’re on the road - vehicles stop, fill up, drivers eat. Bound to see the same ones from time to time. Out of the blue something occurs to him. Turns to look at Max._

QUINN – You still doing it?

MAX – Doing what?

QUINN – Agency.

_Max’s finger flicks the indicator, pulls out to overtake, doesn’t reply until he’s completed the manouvre, pulled back in, thought a few moments longer._

MAX – A little. Still on Saul’s books. Calls me up. Pays well enough I can do a job for him, do my own thing for a few months.

QUINN – Jeanne know?

_Max’s finger starts to tap rapidly on the steering wheel. A tiny outlet of tension, a sore spot poked._

_He shrugs. Thinks._

MAX – She knows I do something I can’t talk about. Contract work for the military is how I put it.

_Quinn laughs._

QUINN – God bless the US military. Useful. Johnny thought I was a soldier for a long time when I first got home. Until I did that charity speech, outed myself.

MAX – Guess you were, after a fashion. A soldier.

QUINN – Kinda. Did the job with Johnny, anyway. It’s dangerous, it’s secret. Explained my injuries, gave me a reason not to tell him any more.

MAX – What’d he say when he found out about the CIA?

QUINN – His head practically exploded.

_They both laugh._

QUINN – I nearly didn’t tell him. He thought he knew what I did, so he wasn’t that curious about the talk, even when it was in all the papers. Couldn’t understand why everyone was so interested in me. Then I realised, someone at school was gonna say something. Couldn’t have him standing there in the yard, other kids telling him his dad was a spy. So we sat down with him, both of us. He got the edited version.

MAX – Of course.

QUINN – Tough, though. Dunno what I’m gonna tell him as he gets older. “Oh, hey! Happy 18th birthday. By the way, I was an assassin, did I mention that?”

MAX – Yeah. Not easy.

QUINN – And one day he’ll see that video.

_Max stiffens suddenly at the thought._

MAX – Fuck.

QUINN – Yeah. I can’t think about it. Tears me apart. But it’s out there.

MAX – Still circulating?

_He shrugs._

QUINN – It’s the internet. Don’t matter how many times you take something down, somebody’s got it, somewhere.

_A pause._

QUINN – We’ll work it out. I guess.

_A long silence._

_They drive on._

_Eventually Max finds a way to restart the conversation._

MAX – But you like being a dad?

QUINN – Fuck, yeah.

_Max laughs._

QUINN – Guess that’s a bit of a surprise to everyone.

MAX – Fair to say I didn’t have you down as the nurturing kind.

QUINN – Tell you what, it’s harder work than the CIA ever was.

MAX – Yeah?

QUINN – Non-stop. And in the CIA, I could work out the answers. Make a plan. Run through the options, make a decent guess if I didn’t have concrete information. Being a parent? No chance.

MAX – Like what?

QUINN – Like… When your daughter wakes you up by poking you in the eye at 6am and says “Cookies?” in the cutest goddamn voice you’ve ever heard, and saying no breaks your heart but it’s 6 fucking am.

Or… When your son’s been sulking in his room the whole day and won’t come out, won’t tell you why, keeps saying he’s fine and why don’t you just go away, and you just wanna climb on the bed and give him a snuggle like he used to let you, to make it all better, but he’s growing up.

When your daughter comes out of the softplay with no diaper on and you have no idea where it went.

When your boy asks you why that one kid from school – who you suspect has white supremacists for parents – won’t talk to the black kid who’s his best friend.

Working new shit out. Whole damn time. Guess I learned that being a parent is just improvising. Every single day, a new plausible narrative to fabricate. Not unlike the CIA in that respect.

MAX – But you still like it?

QUINN – Wouldn’t change it for the world.

You guys think about it? Kids?

MAX – I dunno. I’m away a lot. Don’t know if it’s fair to leave Jeanne at home with a baby.

QUINN – You’re a better man than I was. Didn’t have that thought til Ju was six months pregnant and I was on a transport to Beirut.

MAX – Ah.

QUINN – Yeah. I didn’t deserve a second chance. Fucking miracle she gave me one.

MAX – I dunno. I think you deserved a second chance. After all you went through.

QUINN – Well. I like the idea. That this life I got now is a just reward for my suffering. But I don’t think it works like that. Julia wasn’t obliged to be the one who made it up to me for the shit life dumped on me. Fortunately, turns out she still fancied me _(he smirks)._

_Max laughs._

QUINN – I’m kidding. Fortunately… she has the biggest heart in the fucking world. Is what I should say.

_He feels his stomach twist._

\----

_Many miles on. A non-descript hotel by the highway, somewhere in the Midwest. They’ve retired to their rooms to shower, rest up a little, meeting downstairs for food a little later. Quinn’s instinct had been to order to their rooms, minimise their exposure, but Max had persuaded him they weren’t about to be jumped in Dexy’s Dining Room downstairs. Spending a half hour wrapping themselves around a couple of steaks wasn’t going to result in an armed assault._

_He’s skyped home, seen the kids, chatted to Julia. A brief conversation with her, she’s a little tense with him, until this is sorted. Still pissed that it even needs sorting. What he doesn’t know is that her tension is mostly because she’s desperately worried about him taking this trip, revisiting not just a location, but a way of life, she thought he’d left behind. They **both** thought he’d left behind. Feels like this is the closest she’s ever come to losing him, seeing him slip back to his old life, get caught up in something that she can’t solve the way she does domestic issues. _

_The morning he left, he’d stood by the window watching out until Max pulled up in the rental outside, and she felt like she’d already lost him as he watched. When the car appeared, she’d stifled a desperate desire to grab him and hold him down, tell him not to go, tell him to send Max to do it all, whatever it was, finish things off. But for reasons she’s not sure of herself, she didn’t. Let him go, watched the car drive away with her stomach wringing, her throat choked, light-headed and panicked, then ran upstairs, punched the bed and screamed into the pillow, a torrent of emotions she couldn’t even begin to understand herself – guilt, betrayal, and a yawning anxiety that she shouldn’t have let this happen. Should have dropped it, let him keep his secret stash, whatever the fuck it was. Not sent him out to re-engage in the world he’d spent so many years trying to escape. Realised, too late, she really had no idea what risks this trip would involve – been to afraid to ask, now it was too late and he’d gone._

_So. When he appeared on Skype, her heart leapt, she’d hung back as he chatted to the kids, then took her turn, measured, not sure what to say or how to say it. Just glad to see his face, still alive, not fallen prey to disaster yet. Had walked the tablet out into the utility room, stood leaning against the rattling washing machine, making sure the kids wouldn’t overhear them, had a taut, factual conversation, even though her heart was practically beating out of her chest with emotion. With love for him. With fear for them all. Hung up and thought for a moment how right she’d been to send him packing for good when he’d left for Beirut, while she was pregnant with Johnny. How she could never have lived for ten years with this gut-wrenching fear for his life, this joy and despair agonisingly entwined._

_In the hotel, call over, he shuts off the tablet, lies back on the bed. Contentment, the joy of seeing the kids, keeps him glowing for a few moments, before the discomfort underneath bubbles through, the pain of the disconnect, the awkward conversation with Julia._

_The back of his shoulder is firing with spasms, just starting to creep up his neck towards his head. Now would **not** be a great time for a migraine. He has meds for that. Fuck. Might be still at home. He didn’t pack them himself – Julia, as ever, had organised his meds for the trip, one of the tasks his diminished executive function makes confounding for him._

_He reaches for his holdall, rummages through and pulls out the blue bag in the bottom. Right in the top of it is the day-by-day pill tray, his regular doses parcelled out for him to take each time one of the multiple alarms on his phone goes off. Enough for his scheduled time away - plus a whole week longer, he notices. She thinks he might be gone a while._

_He pulls it out to see if there’s anything beneath. Sure enough, a whole row of small bottles. Julia. Prepared as ever. He tips them out on the bed. On one side, the regular prescription labels. On the other, hand-written labels – Julia’s writing – in large, clear print, with simple legends on:_

> Migraine – take 2, no more than 6 a day

> General pain – take 2 at first, then one every 6 hours

> Muscle relaxants – take 1 or 2, up to 6 a day

_And so on. For each of his possible ailments._

_And beneath them in the bag, the brace he occasionally uses when his hand and wrist get stiff. Not often. But she’s put it in, just in case. Down the side of the bag a folded piece of paper - a schedule with all his meds listed for any doctors that might need to see it, and a piece of paper clipped to the top, with a note from her on it:_

> If in doubt, call 911. Don’t tough it out x

_He takes the migraine bottle in his hand and lies back on the bed, thinking. Julia, so tense with him over Skype, had sat and put all this together. Thought of everything she could. Trying to keep him safe. Grabs his phone. Texts. Opens with a word he’s not used enough, since this all started -_

> Sorry I gotta do this. I’m an idiot. Thanks for doing my meds. Love you xxx

_The answer comes in seconds._

> You are an idiot. But I love you anyway. Xxx

_He smiles. Drops the phone on the bed. Leans forward to jam the pill bottle between his knees so he can unscrew it, rereads the label, takes two pills and knocks them back._ _Lies back on the bed to think about tomorrow. Decommision day._


	3. Explosive and Diamonds – Chapter 3 – D-Day

_A small town. Dry and dusty. The air is warm. Could be anywhere. They drive through and out the other side. And on, a while further. The road threads out into the desert. Takes a turning, loops back around the industrial area that sits on the edge of the town. A few minutes down the track, a container park, surrounded by high chain link fence. A hand painted sign just reads ‘Storage’, a phone number worn illegible beneath. Rows of metal containers, lock-ups, garages, dry-looking weeds lining the tracks that criss-cross the plot. They’ve looped round so far on the road they're following they’re close to the highway again – the hum of the traffic, an occasional vehicle turns off the main drag and heads back towards the industrial units, passing by the storage unit. But nobody stops._

_Quinn turns the car into the lot and pulls up in front of a cabin. A wooden hut with chipped paint, tacked on the front of a cinderblock rectangular building behind. Nobody in sight._

_They get out of the vehicle and Max takes in their surroundings._

MAX – Well, this is nice.

 _For a moment, Quinn feels his emotions pique – the fear of fucking something up, stepping back to the past, losing Julia, losing his new life. But as he approaches the door of the cabin, a quiet, a smoothness takes over. His feet know this step, his hand knows this handle. He opens the door, steps inside, moves in far enough for Max to come in behind him and close the door. Waits a moment while their eyes adjust to the gloom._ _  
_

_There’s a counter, and he leans forward and drops his hand onto the bell that sits there. Rings once. It’s superfluous – nobody out here could be oblivious to a car pulling into the facility. Doesn’t seem like something that happens a lot._

_Behind the counter a curtain of plastic strips stirs as a door opens somewhere in the cinderblock unit, there’s a shuffling of feet, and a man comes through the curtain. In his 60s, clothes old but tidy, a worn button down shirt, a little grey stubble._

_He looks up at Quinn, and his eyes open wider, for just a fraction of a second, a barely perceptible movement, a reaction stifled, a restraint borne of many years of discretion._

_Quinn smiles. Just a small lift at the right of his mouth, but the crinkles round his eyes reveal how pleased he is to see this man._

QUINN – Antonio.

_They exchange a long, clear look._

_Antonio nods._

ANTONIO – Good to see you.

QUINN – Wasn’t sure you’d still have my account open.

ANTONIO – Always.

_Quinn reaches into his pocket and pulls out the key. A key which is… in the conventional sense, not a key. He won’t be putting it in a padlock himself and turning it to open his lock-up. But it is the key to opening the door nonetheless. Anyone who handed Antonio this key and told him a seven digit number known only to Quinn would be given access. Meaning he could have – if he’d needed to – sent other people to get into his stash. For a long time after his stroke, he had no idea what this number was that kept ringing in his brain. Assumed it was a phone number, but for who? Then one day, the jigsaw assembled itself, and he knew again. Just like that. No conscious act of remembering, he just woke up one day and he knew. He takes a breath – still never totally trusting his brain to perform under pressure - recites the number aloud, and places the key on the counter._

_Antonio slides it towards himself, picks it up, and retreats back through the curtain. Gone a long time, working his way through various levels of security required to access the key collection he keeps in a hidden safe, for the lock-ups in the furthest, most overgrown, least-interesting corner of the plot. Larger than the other units, though you’d have to be paying attention to notice the triple strength bar locks, the double weight padlocks top, middle and bottom, the concrete bases on the sheds hidden by weeds. The least-visited, but most profitable part of his business. The rest of it earning barely enough to feed him, but since his best-paying customers took up residence, the purpose of the cheaper plots is not to earn him money, just to provide a plausible business. A smokescreen. So that guys like Quinn – who have real money behind them – can come and go unnoticed._

_He comes out, eventually, with a chain of keys, and a scrap of paper with a code scribbled on it. Slides them across the counter to Quinn._

ANTONIO – Glad to know you’re still in circulation.

QUINN – Last time, Antonio, last time. Close me up after this one.

ANTONIO – It’s been a pleasure. Be lucky.

\----

_They emerge into the sunlight, both on reflex step into the shade and turn away from the road, keep themselves out of view._

MAX – So what, we just clear it out?

QUINN – No!

_Quinn’s voice full of scorn._

QUINN – We’ll come tonight. I’m not loading a case full of weapons into a rental vehicle in broad daylight.

MAX – You don’t think doing it at night is _more_ suspicous?

QUINN – Look around you, Max. You think anybody’s out here at 3am?

_He looks at the deserted surroundings._

MAX – Fair point.

_Quinn smirks._

QUINN – You wanna look, though?

\----

_It takes them five or ten minutes to get into the lock-up, by which point Quinn’s cool is gone, he’s sweating but there’s a chill down the back of his neck, feeling exposed to anyone who might pass by, be curious about these two out-of-towners working at the door of the lock-up, so far back in the lot that they’re almost up against the chain link fence between the plot and the street curving back towards the highway. He’d forgotten he wouldn’t be able to operate the locks single-handed, had to let Max do it, Quinn trying to remember which key would open which – if the access code had survived those years of rebuilding his brain from scratch, the quickest way in through the doors certainly hadn’t. So they had to try one after the other in each of the many locks holding the reinforced doors closed, a task which seemed to stretch on forever._

_As Max worked, a car passed by them on the way to the industrial units down the track; turned in a junction just down the street and came back towards them, heading, most likely, back to the highway, but setting Quinn even more on edge. Just as he was about ready to dive into the weeds for cover, Max popped the last lock and the door opened a few inches._

QUINN – Get inside.

_They step in. It’s so intensely hot they have to leave the door ajar, just an inch. Almost dark. Quinn reaches for the wall behind him and swats a little. Finds a light switch. A single bulb illuminates the room._

_Two large metal chests sit in the middle of the floor._

_Quinn pulls out the piece of paper Antonio gave him, and reads Max the string of numbers. Max kneels in front of the first chest and dials the numbers into the lock. The lid pops and he opens it._

MAX – Fuck me.

_It’s a veritable war chest. Weapons, ammunitions, explosives._

MAX – That guy not mind you keeping this shit here?

QUINN – He’s paid not to mind.

_Around the weaponry is the dull stuff – kit bags, clothes. All as unremarkable as possible. Guaranteed not to stick in the mind of anyone who saw them on a passer-by. Clothes to be forgotten in._

QUINN – Do the other one.

_Quinn sways a little in the heat. The world swims around him. He can’t get any air. He walks over to the door, looks out – nobody around – opens it wider to let in what little breeze there is._

_Max opens the other box. Eases up the lid. It’s full of huge, heavy rocks, and Max thinks someone’s been in there, emptied it out, replaced the contents - but Quinn leans in, reaches down almost underneath one of the rocks, and pulls out a black felt pouch. Holds it out to Max, who slides his hand inside. Pulls out four passports, a sheaf of paperwork._

MAX – All you?

QUINN – Yup.

_He places them on top of one of the rocks, puts his hand back into the pouch again. Pulls out a huge wadge of dollars._

_Raises his eyebrows at Quinn._

QUINN – Something else in there?

_It seems empty. Max reaches in, feels around, and finds another, tiny pouch, closed with a drawstring. Pulls it out. Quinn wants so bad to open it, but he can’t with one hand, and even if he could, he’d drop the contents, they’re so small. Max unknots the string, eases the pouch open. Diamonds. Several, good-sized, serious diamonds. Glittering even in the dim light of the cabin._

MAX – Fuck me. Again.

QUINN – Close it up. Let’s get outta here.

_Max starts to return the pouches to order._

MAX – What’s with the rocks?

QUINN – Who’s gonna steal a box full of rocks?

MAX – Fair point.

_Max closes the lids, slides the locks back into place._

_Just as they’re straightening up, preparing to leave, there’s a noise just outside. A sharp movement, or something dropped, or…_

_They’re suddenly on alert, poised, still. They hear nothing else._

_Fuck._

_Another noise outside, a scuffing of a shoe in sand…?_

_Then a car engine – Quinn can’t sit and hide, pushes out through the door, blinded by the light, and takes a moment to get his bearings, sees the rear end of a vehicle disappearing along the road behind the fence, outside the plot._

QUINN – Fuck, fuck fuck.

_Was someone there? From inside the cabin they’d not been able to hear clearly - a person outside the cabin who vaulted the fence to the road, or just some local wildlife? A car just starting up to make a quick escape, or someone else turning off the highway to the industrial park? The vehicle they saw turn earlier or just someone driving home from work? They watch it recede down the road. Quinn has a desperate urge to get out of there._

QUINN – Let’s go.

MAX – You sure? Wanna ask Antonio who that was?

QUINN – It’s fine. It’s just a car.

MAX – I think it has blacked out windows.

QUINN – Everyone has blacked out windows these days, Max. My mother-in-law has fucking blacked out windows. Just close the fucking doors and let’s go.

_He grits his teeth, tries to pull his pulse back down through sheer will. He will not let this get to him._

\----

_Just before dusk. Quinn in a motel room. Sitting on the bed. Determined not to let the way he got spooked at the cabin become real. He’s just a guy on a road trip. Doing a little business. This time tomorrow he’ll be on his way back to Julia._

_Gets up, goes to his bag to pull out his tablet, glances out of the window – and there’s a car in the lot outside. Badly parked. With blacked-out windows. Stands back against the wall next to the window, looks out at an angle so he’s not visible. He pulls out his phone and photographs the licence plate, and as he does it, the car suddenly reverses at speed with a screech and pulls away._

_Fuck._

_He’s flicking through his address book, wondering who he can get to check the licence plate – Max would do it, but he wants to know his ground first. Feels his pulse start to race as he stands there, and he suddenly feels strong. Powerful. It’s like the old days. He knows he can track these people down and make them regret fucking with him, regret snooping round his stuff, they don’t know who they’re dealing with…_

_And just as he’s thinking that, the adrenaline make his arm start to tremble. He looks down at it. Shuddering. His balloon bursts. Who does he think he is? He’s not that guy any more. And his mind flicks to Julia. He’s not that guy any more – and that’s **good**. He doesn’t need to pursue these guys – just needs to get his stuff, hand back the lock-up, and move on. No time for theatrics. Realises just what a buzz he used to get from his CIA work, how addicted he was to the whole thing. Now the only useful numbers in his phone are the fucking PTA._

_Sits back on the bed. Holds his shuddering arm down with his right hand. Shimmies down the bed and rolls onto his left side, so his body weight pins his arm still. Takes his phone in his right hand. No choice. Texts the photo to Max._

QUINN – See these guys?

_Walls are so thin in the motel he hears it arrive next door._

MAX – On it. Registered to a house a few miles west of here. Address doesn’t check out though, looks like an empty plot on the satellite view. Probably burner plates. Wanna go take a look?

_He doesn’t reply for a bit. Doesn’t want to. Wants to stay here and Skype his kids. Fuck me, how things have changed._

_Eventually there’s a knock at the door. Struggles up to sitting, his arm resuming its dance at his side, he grabs it as he stands and walks across the room, lets Max in and returns to sit on the bed, staring down at his hand bouncing on his lap._

MAX – You OK?

QUINN – Yeah. These guys are sketchy, huh?

MAX - Looks like it. We can go drive by. Don’t think we’ll see anything, don’t think the address is gonna match the vehicle.

QUINN – So… not much point going, then?

_Max nods, surprised._

MAX – OK…. So what do we do?

_He pulls himself up, sits back on the bed._

_Sighs._

QUINN – Honestly? I wanna talk to my kids, eat a burger and go to sleep. How long you think we got before they find a way into the lock-up?

MAX – How much do you trust Antonio?

QUINN – I trust him. Been a fixture a long time. But it depends who these guys are. Just some guy, local chancer, saw through the doorway of the cabin and fancies his luck? He’s not getting in. If they’ve been _sent_ , though…

_Their minds are running, silently, along the same train tracks – but Quinn’s moving considerably slower than Max’s. Where once he would have worked out the reality in seconds, seen the entire landscape the moment he clocked those tinted windows, planned it all out, calculated all the possibilities at once, now he's cruising slowly, step-by-step, to the inevitable conclusion._

_He’s public now. Known to the world to still be alive. A high profile former agent, former hitman, once a danger, with more enemies behind him than he can count. He’d thought about this before he made his public speech for the PTSD Foundation, wondered if he’d put his family in danger by revealing his existence. But had decided his obvious incapacity would make it clear he was no longer in the game. Anyone who put a trace on him would soon die of boredom at his humdrum suburban life, discover there were no hidden depths. And really, anyone who wanted to find him would do it anyway. Carrie had found him. No cover is complete. He’d been walking round Philly with the same old face, that face that had been on every front page, every browser, once upon a time. He wasn’t fooling anyone. Showing he was truly deactivated by dragging his sorry ass up on that stage was probably the safest thing he could do._

_But now, here he was, riding cross country with another known operative, digging around in a desert lock-up, spotted elbow deep in weapons. Fuck._

_No reason he wouldn’t be being tailed in the day-to-day, someone from a hostile power has a body on the ground, keeping a discrete eye on his movements, making sure his sweet family life isn’t just some kind of deep cover… those guys will have serious capability, Antonio would be no match. And they’d be more than happy to get their hands on his stash – both the wealth and the armory – either for their own purposes or to ensure Quinn was neutralised._

_And if someone seriously wants to neutralise Quinn, seriously thinks he’s an active agent who needs taking out – and that’s a hundred times more likely given his activities in the past 48 hours – there’s every chance of him taking a bullet to the head while they’ve got him in their sights._

_Quinn looks up at Max. They need to deal with this, now. Or he might not be going home to his kids._

QUINN – Fuck.

Come on.

_He staggers to his feet._


	4. Explosives and Diamonds – Chapter 4 – Killer Instinct

_They’ve cruised past the plot the car was registered to – just like Max said, nothing there. It’s dark now, and they’re driving, via several circuitous loops, to the lock-up. Quinn sunk in silence, in misery and desolation. Trying to think his way through the possibilities, beset on all sides by the sludge of his brain, unable to work out how to solve this one, wondering how he’s ended up here, again, after thinking for so long that he’d got away._

_Max trying his best._

MAX – Could just be local guys.

Dealers.

We’re not that far from the border. Just one car. Probably small-time.

_Nothing in response. He gives up._

\----

 _They arrive, finally, back at the storage facility. Another of the many keys on the chain gives them after-hours access to the main gates, and they drive slowly through the plot to the lock-up, both on high alert._

_At Max’s suggestion, Quinn stays in the car while he works on the doors. Keeping an eye out. Ready to leave if they need to. Stays there until he sees Max swing the door open and step inside._

_Quinn follows him in, pulls the door closed behind him. Max is opening both the boxes, to reassure himself they’re still intact. Quinn leans into the rock box, retreives the felt pouch._

_Drops the passports and ID papers into the other box, shoves the rest of the pouch in his pocket and gestures to Max to close it up. As he does, Quinn returns to the closed door, stands with his back to it, looking through the tiny gap that remains, listening._

_Suddenly, it’s there again. A noise. Same as last time. There’s someone outside. No mistake this time – Max hears it from the centre of the cabin and looks up. Quinn gestures to him to stay still. They both pause, don’t even want to breathe. Quinn reaches under his coat and slides his weapon from his holster, pressed against the door, moves just a fraction to try and improve his view._

_And then, as the adrenaline courses through him, his left arm starts to shake. A movement profound enough that his knuckes rap the metal repeatedly – in the silence of the night it sounds as loud as a gong being struck. He steps back from the wall but it’s too late, whoever’s outside must know they’ve been seen, must know he’s looking out of the door at them - if he doesn’t strike now, they’re going to jump him, if he doesn’t shoot first…_

_He throws his weight against the door and fires his gun all in one movement, taking aim for the shadowy figure outside, trying to regain his balance, surveil the area for others, prepare to fire again. His vision, his comprehension, his muscles, all firing wildly, out of his control, creating a moment of complete chaos inside him. Max is beside him in the time it takes for him to work out what’s happening._

_A figure in black drops from the top of the chain link fence to the other side, scrambles into a car – **the** car – which screeches away into a U-turn, and races off towards the highway._

_He falls back against the wall of the cabin, drops his shooting arm, eyes wide, terror coursing through him. A stab of pain, of horror, in his chest. Heart pounding up through his neck into his head. No certainty if what he **thinks** he saw really happened. Unable to sift sense from the scattered events swimming in a soup of adrenaline inside him._

_Please, he thinks… **please** don’t let me have shot someone. I have to go home and face my children. Face Julia. I can’t do this again. Please, please._

_The desperate desire **not** to have wiped out the person he just fired his gun at, a whole new thought process for a former assassin. He **thinks** the guy dropped from the fence, got into the car. Did he? Did Quinn hit him? Is he bleeding out in the back of that car right at this moment? Can’t unscramble it all. The whole world swims around him, turning grey, nausea sweeping over him._

MAX – Did you hit him?

_It takes a moment for him to find any words, and when they come, they’re slurred, clumsy._

QUINN – Fuck. I hope not.

MAX – Seriously? I thought you wanted him.

QUINN – I’m not a killer now. Please, Max. Tell me I didn’t hit him.

_Head spinning._

_Max picks up his torch. Examines the ground. Walks to the fence, shines the torch through it to the dirt on the other side._

MAX – No blood.

QUINN – Tell me he’s OK. Jesus. Please tell me he’s OK.

_Max is… thrown. This is unusual. Quinn’s the coolest killer he’s ever met._

MAX – He’s fine. Look. Footprints. No blood.

_Max shows him. Footsteps from the fence to within a couple of feet of the cabin, some disturbed sand, footsteps back to the fence._

MAX – It’s fine. There’s no blood.

_He casts the torch wider. A circular indent in the ground, concentric circular shockwaves in the sand around it._

MAX – I’d say that’s where you put the bullet.

_It’s several feet away from the footsteps._

MAX – Guess you’re not quite the sure shot you thought!

QUINN – Fuck you. This isn’t a joke.

_Max draws himself up. Is serious again._

MAX – We should move this shit.

QUINN – Yeah.

_Quinn rubs his eyes, presses hard into his skull with his thumb and forefinger. Tries to collect himself. Shakes his head rapidly, steps in to the cabin to help Max with the crate. They lift it and load it into the trunk of the car._

QUINN – OK. Let’s go.

_He pulls a burner phone from his pocket. Pulls up the only number in the memory, texts two words:_

> Account closed.

_Throws the phone into the hut, throws the keys in after it, and walks, shaking, to the car._

_\----_

_They drive out of town a while, Quinn at the wheel, sitting in silence. Eventually pulls into a side road, parks up._

MAX – What we doing?

QUINN – Waiting.

MAX – What for? Don’t we wanna get out of here? Get rid of this shit?

QUINN – We’re waiting.

MAX – You didn’t kill anyone, Quinn. Dude got a fright. Probably needs a new pair of pants. Come on, we should move while it’s still dark.

_But Quinn’s the one in the driver’s seat. His jaw clenched shut. Staring into the middle distance. They’re going nowhere._

_They feel like the longest, tensest hours of Max’s life. No fucking idea what’s going on. And despite all he’s done for Quinn in recent years, now they’re back in the field, the old pecking order is firmly back in place: Quinn is in charge. Max the dogsbody._

_Quinn has resumed the taciturn, tight-lipped demeanour he took on all his missions. Peter Quinn is not as dead as he seemed, Max thinks. And just like the old days, Max has no choice but to sit and wait. To hope against hope that the person he’s thrown his lot in with, knows what they’re doing, is going to keep him safe. But now, after all Quinn’s been through, he has no idea if he’s capable of keeping **anyone** safe._


	5. Explosives and Diamonds – Chapter 5 – The Burn

_Eventually, about an hour before dawn, Quinn pulls out his phone to check the time. Without speaking, starts the car. Drives for 15, 20 minutes, cruising around, checking out their surroundings in the gradually lifting light. Never – to Max’s irritation – too far from the town. Max checks his own phone. They could be out of state by now if they’d just driven like hell the whole night._

_Eventually, on the side of town where small hills ripple upwards towards the sky, Quinn turns the vehicle and takes a small single track road threading between two small hills. Still looking around him the whole time as the light begins to lift, looking up at the rising land on either side, the dry brush that speckles the dusty valley and the rocky, pitted hillsides. Drives right through, past the first set of hills, until the road curves and passes through an area of thicker, lusher greenery – must be a water source nearby. He spins the vehicle in the road and drives back to the valley. Eventually, pulls up at the side of the road._

QUINN – Here.

MAX – What the fuck is going on, Quinn? Are you having some kind of breakdown? Because I’m starting to lose patience.

_Quinn gets out, pops the trunk._

QUINN – Help me take it out.

_Max goes round and they lift the metal box out, carry it to a clear patch of sandy dirt a few metres from the road. Quinn starts to remove items, one at a time, and pile them up on the ground. Max, dutiful as ever, helps him, even though he has no idea what’s going on, taking care with a stash that he knows could blow them all over this valley if they don’t watch out._

_Eventually, as they’re almost finished, Quinn goes to the car and reaches into the footwell for an empty water bottle. Grabs one of the kit bags from the box, indicates for Max to open it. All sorts of old shit in there – things that look like a bag of junk to the untrained eye but essential implements for an agent in the field. Pulls out a piece of rubber tubing, and something else which he shoves in his pocket. Takes the empty bottle and the tube, flips open the car’s fuel cap, and siphons off a healthy slug._

MAX – We having a bonfire?

_He puts the bottle down, reaches in his pocket, holds the car keys out to Max._

QUINN – You remember where I turned the car? Round that corner in the trees?

MAX – Sure.

QUINN – Take the car up there. Park it out of sight, come back on foot. I’ll see you up there.

_He points up one of the hills._

MAX – Seriously?

QUINN – Yup. That ridge line about two thirds of the way up. Those long flat rocks.

MAX – Quinn, I’m sorry, you need to tell me what the fuck we’re doing. Because as far as I can see we’ve hung about in the hot zone for multiple hours for no apparent reason, and…

_Just as he’s warming up, Quinn interrupts._

QUINN – Max, just do it. I’ll see you up there.

MAX – Fuck’s sake.

_Max snatches the keys, gets into the car, slams the door, hard, and drives away._

_Quinn watches him go, and smirks for a moment. Jesus, this really is like the bad old days. Him silently executing an operation, Max in the dark, putting up a token fight but doing exactly what he’s told. But… he doesn’t seem to be able to snap out of it. And he doesn’t want to snap out of it. He knows what needs done, and he’s doing it._

_He turns to the pile of weapons, explosives, clothes, and kit, and sloshes the fuel over it. Drags across some dry branches that lie on the ground nearby, adds them on top. Drops the bottle on the pile, and starts to walk._

\----

_It’s well and truly daylight now, warm already. It’s not like he spends a lot of time walking up hills these days, and it’s incredibly tough with his stiff left side, his leg reluctant to bend or to lift, having to practically turn sideways and just drag it up behind him, stopping frequently to catch his breath, turning every few moments to keep an eye on the road beneath. He’s about halfway up when he sees Max appear at the other end of the small valley, walking and jogging by turns until he gets back to the pile, and then starting up the hill, quickly gaining ground on Quinn._

_Quinn arrives at the ridge just moments before Max - just long enough to catch his breath, regain his composure after a climb that was right at the edge of his physical ability._

MAX – So?

QUINN – What?

MAX – What are we doing? Why are we not taking all this shit to someone miles from here who can make it disappear?

_Quinn points at a natural, shallow trench in the ground._

QUINN – Let’s go here.

_He sinks awkwardly down, then lies in the trench, facing towards the valley. Wriggles, gets himself comfortable. Max frowns down at him. Quinn nods to the ground. Max sighs and gets down, lines himself up with the trench, makes sure of his cover. He looks for the first time back at the vista. They’re pretty much totally hidden, but have a perfect view of the entire valley, back through the hills out towards the highway, the town stretching out on lower ground beyond. Shit. Quinn must have worked out the entire topography of this place as they drove around at dawn, known right away the best place to hide, keep out of the way of… whatever the fuck was happening next._

_Max is gazing back towards the town, feeling for the first time the tiredness in his bones from a night without sleep, when…_

**BOOOOOOFT!**

_There’s a huge crack, a deafening noise just a few feet away that nearly stops his heart, overwhelms his every sense until he gets a hold of himself, looks up towards Quinn further up the trench, settled, calm and poised, arm outstretched over the lip of the trench, a freshly-fired gun in his hand. Pointing down into the valley. Max barely has time to assemble his thoughts before the second assault on his ears, a vast, roaring explosion from beneath them, that fills the valley and richoets back and forth so many times Max can’t tell if it’s an echo or the sound of his eardrums dying inside his head._

_Down in the valley, what was their carefully constructed pile is now an inferno, small but fierce, flames climbing higher by the minute, subsequent explosions and sounds of bullets bursting into the dust, in rapid succession at first, then further apart, like popcorn approaching readiness in the pan._

_It’s a few minutes before Max can hear well enough to speak. Before he can even think what to say. And he thinks carefully. For the first time, he seriously wonders if Quinn has lost it. If this is a man in a meltdown, who has no idea what he’s doing, has lost the plot and just driven the pair of them into a death trap of their own making – a mile from their vehicle, Quinn struggling to move on foot, a massive pillar of smoke now heading into the sky to alert anyone who might be interested to their whereabouts. Why did he not stop him sooner? What does he say?_

MAX – This is… not quite how I imagined this going off.

QUINN – What?

MAX – It’s… kinda obvious, isn’t it? Smoke’s gotta be visible for miles around. And the sound. Every explosion.

QUINN – Oh, Max.

_Quinn shakes his head. Max’s stomach flips. Quinn’s lost it. What does he do now? Can’t abandon him, but how does he get him out?_

QUINN – That’s the _point_.

MAX – What?

QUINN – I _want_ them to know. Those guys. I want them to see.

MAX – What? We just spent half the night hiding from them.

QUINN – No we spent half the night _waiting_. Because it was dark.

MAX – Quinn, I’m lost.

QUINN – They need to _see_. I’m decommissioning.

_Max’s eyes narrow in thought._

QUINN – Right now, if some really knows what was in that cabin, and who I was, they think I’m tooling up for a new job.

I want them to see me burn this. I want them to know, all this shit? It’s not going back into play. It’s out of action. And so am I.

_Max looks down at the inferno below. At the pillar of black smoke reaching way up into the sky in the still air. He squirms down lower in his trench and waits._

\----

_Eventually, Quinn twitches and the movement makes Max look up. A vehicle is pausing out on the highway, suspended in motion for a moment as the occupants peer into the valley. Suddenly turns sharply, and begins down the road towards the fire._

_Max looks at Quinn. Seems unperturbed._

_They watch it driving up the single track, finally slowing and stopping a distance short of the fire. A pause. The doors open and two men get out. Quinn pulls something out of his pocket – a monocular – the other thing he’d pulled from the kit bag. Stares down at the two guys as they walk towards the fire, get as close as they can for the heat, and stand there, staring at it, looking around them a little._

_Quinn smirks. Puts the monocular back in his pocket._

QUINN – Well, that clinches it.

MAX – What?

QUINN – They’re not agents.

MAX – What do you mean?

QUINN – Max. You’re in the desert. You see a column of smoke from a fire that you think might an opposition agent. What do you do?

_Max’s brow furrows._

QUINN – Do you drive right up to the fucking thing? Knowing full well – because you’re an agent too – that the owner of this shit is probably sitting in the hills watching you with a loaded weapon?

MAX – Oh.

QUINN – Do you drive right up to a fire that’s probably full of bullets? And an unknown quantity of explosives?

MAX – Oh. Right.

QUINN – These guys aren’t agents. They’re fucking idiots.

_He pulls his gun out._

MAX – Jesus. You’re gonna kill ‘em? I thought you said you weren’t a killer now? You’re not in the CIA any more. You shoot these guys, it’s murder.

_Quinn looks irritated._

QUINN – Max.

 _Shakes his head._

_Shoots, and hits exactly what he’s aiming for – the ground at their feet. Even at this distance, they can see the twister of dust that spirals up beside the men. Now, in the calm, and the daylight, his shot is back on target._

_The reaction is immediate – the guys spin round, eyes wide in terror. Look at the scrub around them. Then up at the hills. It dawns. They’re sitting ducks._

_Quinn fires again. To the other side of them this time._

_They spin again, petrified. Several moments of suspension, as they stand, motionless…_

_Then they leap into the car. Spin round. Screech the tyres._

_Max looks at Quinn, appreciation growing._

QUINN – Like I said. Fucking idiots. If I didn’t scare ‘em off, they’d stand next to that fire til something exploded and killed ‘em. Then, like you say. I’m in trouble.

_The car gets to the end of the track, screeches onto the highway and speeds away._

QUINN – Way it stands, we’ve had eyes on them.

MAX – Know they’re no danger.

QUINN – And if they _had_ been a danger, they’d have known I’d decommissioned. All bases covered.

MAX – Nice work, Agent Quinn.

QUINN – Thank you, Agent Pietrowski.

_Quinn smiles at him. It’s as much as he can do not to blow the imaginary smoke from the end of his weapon._

\----

_Finally on the road again. Heading home._

_It had taken a long time for Quinn to get back down the hill, but he took his time – Max went ahead and retreived the car, gritted his teeth and sped past the fire hoping it wouldn’t let loose any shrapnel as he passed._

_But it was fine. He parked up and waited for Quinn, played it cool and pretended not to notice the way Quinn practically staggered into the vehicle, exhausted, when he finally made it down. Pointed back towards the fire._

MAX – You need to take care of any of that?

_Quinn shakes his head._

QUINN – No ID marks. Filed ‘em off myself. Long time ago.

_Max feels deep relief. Finally, now he has the chance, does what he’d been wanting to do all night – puts his foot down and speeds for the state lines._

_They drive in silence. Max keeps thinking of things to say – So Peter Quinn’s not as dead as we thought! Sure you don’t want to rejoin the agency? But everything he thinks of, he knows would horrify Quinn. It’s been a big night. Best to just let things settle._

_In fact, they drive for two hours and hardly exchange a word. Stop briefly to grab some food and drinks when Quinn’s phone alarm goes off and he realises he has to take his meds, needs something to eat and drink with them. Making little more than polite conversation._

_Finally, it’s Quinn that breaks the silence._

QUINN – Thanks, Max.

MAX – You’re very welcome. Good to do one last mission with you.

_Quinn squirms a little. The man who set out to treat this whole thing like a covert operation, is now – heading home to his family, switching back over the threshold – suddenly perturbed by the way he finds himself able to flip so quickly between modes._

_Max senses his discomfort. Shuts up again._

_Eventually, mid-afternoon, Max still at the wheel, Quinn reaches into his pocket and pulls out the black pouch. Holds it between his knees and pulls out the contents, one by one. Flicks through the cash thoughtfully, estimating the value._

MAX – What you gonna do with the rocks? Ring for the wife?

QUINN – No fucking way, she would NOT be happy with that.

MAX – I thought women loved diamonds?

QUINN – You don’t know Julia.

I know a guy. Mind if we detour?

_An hour later he directs Max into the next city, to a quiet backstreet, where he signals to Max to stop, jumps out, and goes inside. About 10 minutes later, comes back out, hand shoved in his pocket._

_Gets into the car, scans the street to make sure nobody’s around. Pulls a wedge of cash out of his pocket, places it into the pouch with the rest of the cash, hands the whole lot to Max._

_Max looks blankly at him._

MAX – What’s this?

QUINN – Yours.

MAX – What you talking about?

QUINN – It’s yours. Appreciate your help.

MAX – I don’t need this.

QUINN – Yeah, you do. I’ve seen your apartment. Buy somewhere nicer.

MAX – Quinn…

QUINN – I can’t take it home, Max. Julia won’t have it.

And I don’t need it. Dar set me up. You know that.

Anyway. Thank you. You helped me.

MAX – It was three days. I can’t take this kind of cash for three days’ work.

QUINN – Not just three days. Long time. You helped me.

_A long silence, Max staring at the money, Quinn staring at the horizon._

QUINN – If you don’t want it, burn it. But you earned it.

_Max doesn’t know what to say. Sticks the bag of notes under his seat. Starts the engine._

_Pulls away and they drive towards home._

\----

**Epilogue**

_He hopes for a sense of sudden catharsis, of relief, when he gets home, but it’s not to be. The routines of the week sweep straight in – he arrives home to Katy crying, grabs her for a snuggle to try and stop her tears, walks her round their usual route in the yard, looking at the trees, talking to the birds. Her smell, the feeling of her pudgy little legs on his arm, instant anchors back to this reality, this world, these people’s needs._

_Julia’s been home alone with the kids while he’s been away, so he steps in and tries to take the weight off her shoulders - groceries to be bought, homework to be checked, Julia’s work schedule is crazy, they’re sleeping different hours. No time to talk. To really talk. And even if they had time, he doesn’t know what to say._

_When everything first went down, he’d had no intention of telling her about it at all - the shooting, the terror, the trap he’d set to lure the guys into his sights. Never. That was his old life and he didn’t want it contaminating this one. But holding it in, he feels like a stopped bottle. Tense. Ready to burst._

_He tries to think. Hard. Whenever he can. During Katy’s nap time, he sits, brow furrowed, staring at the floor, trying to get his brain to process what happened, work out what to do next. Carve out whatever moments of quiet he can to let his thoughts churn. His brain so slow these days that he has to do this - stop and clear out distractions, wait for the gears to grind, work hard at trying to assemble his ideas, his feelings._

_But in fact, despite his concentrated efforts to still his mind, it’s actually when he’s right in the middle of a hundred other things that the light bulb goes on. He’s paying for groceries, trying to stop Katy grabbing things near the counter, trying to stop her falling over, keep her from crying in frustration... suddenly the words pop into his head:_

You have to tell her.

_He gives in and buys Katy the candy she wants, pays, gets out and straps her into her car seat, happily snacking, buys himself enough time to sit and stare into space. Thinking._

_If he doesn’t tell her everything, he’ll just have exchanged one secret for another. He’d have to lie to her - by omission at least - for the rest of his life. And that’s just not going to happen._ _That’s not what they’re about. So that means he has to tell her. The whole story._

_Eventually, about a week in, Julia’s shifts finally align so she has a day off when Johnny’s at school. Quinn sees it coming in the diary and calls Carmen, arranges for her to take Katy, tells her he and Julia need to spend some time. Tells Julia the arrangement, and she takes a beat to absorb what he’s saying._

_She knows they need to talk about his trip, but have both been hiding behind busyness so effectively she’s kind of surprised it’s finally arrived._

_And so, he hands Katy to Carmen, closes the front door, comes back into the kitchen, where Julia’s sitting with a coffee, scrolling the news on her tablet._

_He sits down. Sips his own coffee. She looks up. They look at each other. A moment of silence. Neither knows what to say. She cracks first…_

JULIA - How you doing?

_He nods._

QUINN – I…

_Thinks._

QUINN – You wanna go for a walk?

JULIA – Sure. Let me get dressed.

\----

_It was a spontaneous suggestion, not planned, but he’s glad he made it. Keeps it away from the house. Keeps home untained._

_They walk around the corner to the park. Not far. Mostly in silence, holding hands. Enjoying the breeze. He points to a bench, and they sit. He exhales. Looks at her._

QUINN – So…

JULIA – You don’t have to tell me. If you think I’m better not knowing.

QUINN – I think I do. I think I need to. If you don’t mind me telling you. I don’t want any more secrets.

_She takes his hand._

JULIA – OK. Sure.

_And so he tells her. The whole thing. She closes her eyes several times, clenches a fist, swears, holds a hand to her mouth. But he gets through it. Keeps circling back to that moment, that sea of confusion, as he stood outside the lock-up, thinking he’d just shot someone._

QUINN – I just felt so… _lost_. So scared. Like all of me had fallen apart. Thought my heart was gonna stop, I seriously…

_And he’s crying. She takes his hand. It’s trembling. Squeezes it._

JULIA – Honey.

_He shrugs. Not sure he can verbalise it any more._

_She thinks. Sighs._

JULIA – Well, look…

_And as he hears those words, he feels something inside him unclench. Those two words, they’re the words she uses when she’s about to pick up the emotional pieces he’s left shattered on the floor, turn them around thoughtfully in her hands, and put them back together again. Put him back together again._

JULIA – …it actually sounds to me like you had a perfectly normal response to thinking you’d shot someone. I mean…a _normal_ response. The kind of response that normal people have. Not assassins.

_He raises his eyebrows at her, like a curious little boy, trying to follow her thoughts._

Most people, if they thought they’d shot someone, would react like that. Horror, dread, shaking, the whole thing. It’s a fucking awful thing to happen. It’s only weird to you because you were programmed for so long not to react at all. To just think ‘job done’ and walk away. I’d say… if that’s not how you react any more, that’s a pretty good thing.

_She laughs a little._

In fact, I’d say maybe the Julia Diaz deprogramming project has been a tremendous success.

_He laughs and cries all at once, she raises her arms to him and he leans in, rests his head on her shoulder. She squeezes him hard, kisses the top of his head, and thanks her lucky stars she has him back, home, safe, and in her arms._


	6. The Reckoning - Chapter 1 - Outburst

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this continues from Explosives and Diamonds, another five-chapter story, but these are more of a domestic drama, as Quinn deals with the repurcussions of his road trip with Max. And we know how much our boy loves a little soul-searching...

_And so life returns – kind of – to normal. He and Julia feel closer, they hold each other more tightly at night, feel more grateful as they share their parenting, their life, their home. Safe, and without secrets._

_But he’s antsy, in ways he doesn’t want to be. His anxiety is closer to the surface, the muscles of his left side stiffen up with tension more often. Finds himself trying hard not to think about what happened that night at the lock-up, how close he came to killing someone. What that would have meant. Often finds his heart beating hard, suddenly, in his chest. Manages to stave off a full-on panic attack, but it’s a rougher road than he expected. Like the whole escapade in the desert has upset the cart and he can’t quite put it straight. Like Peter Quinn has stepped out of the grave and is staring at him from a distance, his influence looming in a way he thought he’d put to bed._

_Tells himself again and again. Nobody’s hurt. It’s fine. All good._

_\----_

_Quinn and Johnny are walking through the parking lot at the mall, back to the car._

_They came to the mall so Johnny could spend his allowance on some computer game Quinn doesn’t understand, which Johnny’s now examining intently as they walk back to the car._

_They’re on a narrow pathway alongside the lot, the wall of the mall on the left, a row of cars on the right. Johnny in front staring intently at his game, Quinn behind. His side is stiff today, which makes walking more of a pain in the butt. But he’s used to his uneven gait by now – step forward with his right side, pull his awkward left side level, pause as he drops his weight back onto his left leg and gets his balance. Step, pull, pause. Step, pull, pause. It’s fine._

_He becomes aware of someone approaching behind him. Smells the cigarette smoke first. Then smells alcohol. Someone who’s been drinking heavily, early in the day, approaching fast behind him. His hackles rise._

_Hears a muttering behind._

_The guy gets closer, is just a step or two behind him, the path too narrow to pass._

GUY – C’mon, man.

_Ignore him. He tells himself. Step, pull, pause. Don’t let him bother you. Step, pull, pause. Not much further to the car. Step, pull, pause. He can wait. Step, pull, pause. Can’t go any faster. Step, pull, pause._

_His heart’s beating a little quicker, aware of the guy bearing down on him._

GUY – Jesus _._

_Ignore him, he tells himself. Not just because the guy’s being an asshole, but because he wants to keep himself between the asshole and Johnny. Keep his body between them. Protect Johnny._

_Ignore him._

_Ignore him._

_Ignore…_

_Suddenly he feels something at his shoulder, a momentary brush and then a huge shove as the guy pushes past, saying at him as he passes -_

GUY – **Fucking** cripple.

_There’s a second of pure blankness, and then the guy is up against the wall, face inches from his own, Quinn’s hand around his neck, pushed up against his jaw, the guy stunned and terrified and turning red in the face as Quinn’s fingers tighten around him._

QUINN – What’d’you say?

_The guy tries to shake his head but can’t move._

GUY – Sorry man, I just…

_Quinn squeezes harder._

QUINN – What?

_His voice is a wheeze_

GUY – Sorry.

QUINN – **What?**

GUY – Sorry, man. I’m sorry.

 _Quinn holds him. Stares at him. Squeezes once more, tight enough the guy gasps._

_Drops him._

_The guy steps back quickly, takes a split second to catch his breath, rub his neck, his eyes still wide, then takes off, running, back the way he came, until he’s several yards away, looks back over his shoulder to make sure he’s not being pursued, shakes his head at the crazy guy, walks hurriedly away, muttering under his breath._

_Quinn flexes his hand, turns back to continue walking. Then sees Johnny. He’d completely forgotten he was there._

_He’s standing in the middle of the path, looking at Quinn, his face a glazed mask of shock._

_Quinn suddenly crumples inside. Oh fuck. Oh fuck._

QUINN – Hey…

_He reaches his hand towards Johnny, who, still staring at him, takes a step back._

_Quinn wants to cry._

QUINN – I’m sorry. He pushed me. I didn’t want him to hurt you.

_Johnny nods, still staring, still silent._

QUINN – It’s OK, bud. Nothing bad’s gonna happen. Sorry if I scared you.

_Johnny just looks at him. Quinn has no idea what to do, what to say._

QUINN – C’mon, let’s go home.

_He starts to walk, and Johnny, still silent, turns and walks too._

\----

_They’re in the car. Sitting in the lot. Johnny in the back seat, staring at his game, but not really looking at it. Just staring. In shock. Has only known his dad as a man who is slow-moving, quiet, thoughtful and kind. Doesn't know the Quinn that he just saw in front of him in the lot. Doesn't know who that fast, angry, dangerous man was. Quinn looks at him in the mirror. Feels wretched._

_Still feels like crying. Wishes Julia was there._

_Opens the door, gets out, goes around and gets in the back next to Johnny._

QUINN – I’m really sorry, bud.

Sometimes… my brain forgets that I’m not an agent any more. Just for a minute. When that guy pushed me, I knew he was drunk, he was rude to me, I suddenly forgot, just for a minute, that I’m not an agent. I did what I would have done before. I shouldn’t have done it. That was wrong. I’m sorry you had to see that. I’m sorry.

_Johnny nods. Quinn wants to hug him, but he’s terrified that if he raises his arm, Johnny will flinch, and he couldn’t bear that._

_Pats him on the knee instead. Hates himself as he does it for making such an ineffectual gesture. Takes his hand back, stops and thinks for a moment._

QUINN – You know I go to the hospital, right?

_Johnny nods._

QUINN – And you know, some of the doctors I go to see are to help me with my body – my leg, all that stuff. And some of the people I go to see help me with this _(He taps his head)._ One of the things I need help with, I have to unlearn some stuff that I learned when I was an agent, stuff that’s not good to do now. Like that. _(Points back up the path with his thumb)._ What I just did. And I’m getting there, but sometimes I forget, and I’m really sorry. But I’m getting better. And you know I will never, ever hurt you. OK?

_Johnny nods._

QUINN – OK.

_Quinn takes a breath. Doesn’t know what else to do or say. Feels desperate to get back home, get back to Julia, ask for her help. Scared that this alternate Quinn, who he hoped he'd banished, still, somehow, lives within him.  
_

_Gets out, closes the car door gently, walks back to the driver’s seat and pulls away._

\----

_They pull up. Get out in silence. He stands by the door as Johnny gets out, places a gentle hand on the back of his shoulder. They go in, and Johnny heads upstairs. Julia appears and calls after him._

JULIA – Hey – did you get it?

JOHNNY – Yeah.

JULIA – Gonna show me?

_He turns round, holds it out to her._

JULIA – Well, that’s pretty cool.

JOHNNY – Yeah.

_He’s quiet – almost sullen._

JULIA – You don’t like it?

JOHNNY – I do. Can I go upstairs?

JULIA – Sure, honey.

_He goes up. She’s a bit baffled. Turns back to Quinn, looks quizzical. He looks terrible. Nods her into the living room with him._

_Sits in the sofa. She sits in the chair._

JULIA – You OK?

_He shakes his head. Says softly_

QUINN – I fucked up.

JULIA – What happened?

_He buries his face in his hand for a moment. Exhales. Looks at her._

JULIA – What is it? You only went to the store…

QUINN – A guy… tried to push past me. Called me a cripple. I…

_He holds his hand up, mimes what he did._

QUINN – Into the wall.

He scared me. I didn’t even know I was doing it.

JULIA – Did Johnny see?

QUINN – Yeah. Right in front of him. He was terrified.

_They both sit with that for a moment._

I feel terrible.

I think… my trip, it’s made things worse. My… PTSD stuff. It stirred a lot up. Maybe that’s why I flipped.

_She puts her hand on his, can see how distraught he is. He thinks._

I… I think I should maybe move back out for a bit.

JULIA – What?

QUINN – We said we don’t want him round violence. That it’s… not acceptable. I should go back next door. Work through this with Kerry, maybe come back later if I’m better. Ask her about one of those other PTSD programmes, thing we didn’t try yet. If I stay next door, not come back til I’m done. It’s not magic, the programme, but if it improves things…

JULIA – Well, hold on. I mean… I agree. If he’s scared, that’s bad. We can’t have him being scared of you. But also… you coming and going… I dunno, might be more disruptive than you just staying and us talking him through it. You’re here now. I don’t want him to feel like you left because of him or something. Kids get ideas.

QUINN – I feel so bad. Piece of shit.

JULIA – Johnny. Don’t. That doesn’t help anyone. Save that stuff for Kerry, don’t bring it here. You’re not a piece of shit, you have PTSD. Right now, this is about Johnny.

_He pulls himself together a little. She’s right. Self-pity’s only gonna make this worse._

QUINN – So what do we do now?

_He feels at once terrible that he has to rely on her to know this, and immensely relieved that he can. Fully aware that, at times like this, she’s parenting him as much as Johnny. But there’s no other way, that he can see._

JULIA – I’m gonna go speak to him. Then bring him down and we both speak to him.

_She thinks._

JULIA – And… maybe I come with you. When you go to see Kerry. Because I have concerns. Obviously.

QUINN – Yes. Yes, that’s OK. Come. That would be good.

JULIA – Once we’ve done all that, we decide. Whether you stay or go back next door.

QUINN – Yeah. OK.

JULIA – OK.

_She stands and goes upstairs._

_Knocks gently on Johnny’s door._

JULIA – Hey.

_He’s sat on the floor, back to the door._

_Doesn’t really look round._

JOHNNY – Hey.

JULIA – Can I come in?

JOHNNY – Yeah.

_She goes round. Sits on the floor facing him._

JULIA – Dad told me what happened.

You feeling scared?

_He shrugs._

I think I would be, if I were you. Sounds pretty scary.

_He nods. She lifts her arms up and hugs him, he goes with her, wraps his arms around her._

JULIA – I’m sorry that happened. I’m sorry you saw it, and sorry Dad did it. He shouldn’t have.

I think the guy frightened him, made him jump, and he just didn’t think. The old things he was taught when he was an agent just jumped out. They shouldn’t have done.

JOHNNY – That’s what he said.

JULIA – But it was still scary, right?

JOHNNY – Yeah. What if he gets cross at me?

JULIA – I know. That’s a scary thought. Daddy knows that he shouldn’t do it even to grown ups. But just occasionally, his brain slips up. He slips up. He learned to do that stuff when he was an agent. He wouldn’t ever do it to you. And because he has a brain injury, it’s harder for him to learn new things now. Takes longer. But he’s learning. It absolutely should not have happened. It was wrong, and he knows it was wrong.

So what’s going to happen is, I’m going to go with him when he goes to the doctor. The one that helps him with his brain. We’re going to talk together about what happened, and what’s going on with him, and see what the doctor says. And if she thinks it’s the right thing to do, he’ll move back next door for a bit. Until we know he’s better.

_Johnny looks up at her, stricken._

JOHNNY – No!

JULIA – OK – well that answers the next question. Which is whether you’d _like_ him to move next door again. Just for a bit.

JOHNNY – No. I like him here. When he’s normal dad.

_He hugs her._

JULIA – OK. Well, it might not be your decision. If the doctor says he should go next door, he’ll go. She’s the expert. But also, any time, if you decided you liked it better when dad was next door, if the way he behaves upsets you and you’d like a little space away from it, he’ll go, and nobody will mind at _all_. Dad will love you just as much, and so will I, and we’ll all just have a little more space while he learns to make sure he doesn’t get angry like that. OK?

_He nods._

JULIA – This stuff is difficult. It’s difficult even for grown ups, and you’re just a little guy. I’m sorry you have to deal with it.

Now, I’d like you to come down and talk to dad with me. OK?

_He nods._

_They go downstairs, into the living room._

_Johnny stands there, staring at the floor._

QUINN – Hey.

JOHNNY – Hey.

QUINN – I’m sorry. I know I said that already, but I feel very ashamed about what I did. It was wrong. And I’m going to do everything I can do to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

_Johnny still doesn’t make eye contact._

JOHNNY – I don’t want you to move out. I wasn’t scared.

QUINN – It’s OK if you were scared. Totally OK. And me and mom are gonna talk, and my doctor, and we’re gonna decide what to do.

JOHNNY – OK.

QUINN - I love you and... I'm sorry this is so complicated. _(The words just start to tumble out of him as he tries to explain, tries to get it right)._ The... bad stuff that happened to me, and the brain injury, sometimes it all just gets mixed up together and it makes life a lot harder than it should be. But it should only make things harder for me, I don't want it to make _your_ life hard too. But maybe sometimes it will. That's kind of... life. But you gotta talk to us if it feels tough. If you can't talk to me, you talk to mom, OK?

JOHNNY - OK.

_For the first time, Johnny looks up, looks at Quinn. Gives him a small, tight, corner of the mouth smile. Just a tiny little olive branch. It's enough to make Quinn suddenly feel like he might cry - his little boy doing him the kindness of connecting with him again. He clenches his abs, just to keep control, buy him another minute._

QUINN – So you wanna take your new game, go see Louis?

JOHNNY – Yup.

QUINN – OK bud. Come back when you’re hungry. Love you.

_Johnny runs out, shouting behind him.  
_

JOHNNY - You too.

_Quinn sinks back into the sofa, wipes the corner of his eye, and exhales hard.  
_


	7. The Reckoning - Chapter 2 - Telling Teacher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eagle-eyed readers might spot that Johnny still has the same teacher he had way back [in the first chapter of Scenes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504904/chapters/33510735), but what the hell… I think when I first wrote it I imagined it happening a bit sooner, but the family got busy, with having a babies and going on adventures, so the timeline has stretched out a bit.

_After breakfast. Johnny out front, kicking a ball about, Julia and Quinn tidying up in the kitchen. They both come to a pause for a moment, looking out of the window at him._

JULIA – Little dude seems OK.

QUINN – So far. Could be… stuff going on in that little head.

JULIA – Yeah. Never know. But we’ll deal with it as it happens. If it happens. I’ll try not to go full Philadelphia PD on his ass if he plays up.

_He smiles. Strokes her shoulder._

QUINN – Good. Sometimes he… takes a little time to process things. Like his dad.

_Thinks._

You think we should speak to his teachers? Just a heads-up?

JULIA – I wondered about that. In case.

QUINN – I’ll do it.

JULIA – You will?

QUINN – Yeah. I want to.

JULIA – I can come.

_He shakes his head._

QUINN – I gotta... I dunno. My responsibility. All this.

_She’s not certain – she’d actually like to be there but…. She was the one who told him to take responsibilty. For himself. For fatherhood. Nods._

JULIA – OK.

\----

_He knocks on the door, standing outside, not wanting to step in. Called ahead, arranged to come after school while Johnny played in the yard, waiting for him. But the classroom is not a place of happy memories for him. Not eager to step in.  
_

_She’s sitting marking books, looks up._

MRS DENTON – Mr Quinn!

QUINN – Hi.

MRS DENTON – Come in, good to see you.

QUINN – Th-thank you.

_He walks in, stands awkwardly just inside the door._

MRS DENTON – Here, let’s sit over here, I’ll feel a little less like I’m your school ma’am.

_She smiles, stands and walks over to the book corner where there are some soft chairs._

QUINN – Sure.

_He follows her over, lowers himself into the chair._

MRS DENTON – It’s nice to see you. We can never have too many chances to get to know our parents. Johnny’s such a joy to have in the classroom. He’s really come out of himself lately.

QUINN – Oh. Oh good.

_There’s a pause. Expectant._

MRS DENTON – What can I do for you today? Was there something particular?

QUINN – Yeah. I… need to…

I… there’s something I want to t-talk to you about. With Johnny.

MRS DENTON – OK.

_Another pause as he thinks._

_Long enough that she takes a breath to say something, fill the gap._

_He hears that, looks suddenly up at her, opens his mouth, holds up a finger a little._

QUINN – Sorry. You gotta…

_He purses his lips, looks at the ceiling a moment. Tries again. Tries to be politer. Points at himself_

I… had a stroke. My… t-talking’s slow. Sorry. Gimme time.

_And Jesus, it is slow. Difficult. Worse than it’s been in a long time – he’s so out of his comfort zone._

MRS DENTON – Oh I’m _so_ sorry. Forgive me. Of course. Take as long as you need.

_She sits, quietly, and waits._

QUINN – I have…

_Thinks._

QUINN – I wanted to tell you about things at home. In case.

_He looks at her. She’s looking at him, evenly. Interested._

QUINN – I don’t know… if you know… I had some…

_He squirms._

Bad things happened… to me.

_He sneaks a look at her._

I… served. Didn’t end well. For me.

_She nods, kindly._

MRS DENTON – Yes. I… know a little, I guess.

_He nods, weighing that up. Knows she’s probably being polite and knows everything. Shouldn’t be surprised, but it always does surprise him, a little, when he discovers someone knows exactly who he is, has been carrying on normal life alongside him without even mentioning it._

QUINN – That’s why I… the stroke and stuff. The walking.

MRS DENTON – I’m very sorry.

QUINN – Th-thank you.

But also I…

_Points at his head. Fuck fuck fuck, hates this. Even though he gave a public fundraising talk about, it he feels intensely self-conscious when he says it one-to-one.  
_

QUINN – I have PTSD. And I’m in treatment, but sometimes it’s difficult.

_Amazes himself with how smoothly that came out. Like the preamble was the difficult bit, but once he was over the threshold…_

QUINN – I see someone. Regular. And we’re starting a new… p-p-programme. New sessions. Really deal with it. But I don’t always do so good.

At the weekend I got angry. With a guy. Was rude to me. I…

_He looks up into space for a minute._

I got very angry. And Johnny was there.

He’s pretty sensitive.

I’m trying really hard but… I know that might not be enough. I got a... bit of a bad spell going on, I guess. If it gets too bad, I’m going to move out again. Live next door again. We don’t want him to be scared. But right now, I’m there. I’m worried about him. If he feels bad because he saw me angry. I don’t wanna hurt him… I mean not _hurt_ him. I’d never hurt him. Never. _Actually_ hurt him. Physically. Never. But – _(taps his head)_ – in here. Make him upset.

I wanted you to know. You see a lot of him. If you think he’s upset. Or it’s going bad for him. You can watch out, maybe.

_She sits and waits, but this time, for now, he’s done. She looks at him seriously, the early courtesies out the way and now ready to talk to him straight._

MRS DENTON – Thank you for telling me.

It sounds challenging, for all of you. Has he been upset at home?

QUINN – When it happened. But he kind of moved on. But you don’t know what he’s thinking sometimes.

_She thinks. Nods._

MRS DENTON – OK. Well, I’ll keep a close eye on him. I’ve not noticed anything out of the ordinary.

QUINN – Good.

_Suddenly he finds himself wanting to lean on her – she’s so motherly._

I feel so scared for him. He’s so great. If I damage him…

MRS DENTON – Well, it may sound stupid, but it’s good that you’re worried. Plenty of kids grow up in terrible circumstances and their parents don’t worry about them for a moment. Those are the kids that cause me the real sleepless nights.

None of us are perfect, Mr Quinn. We all bring who we are to parenthood, good and bad. You’re right, if there’s actual violence in the home, that’s a problem. But you have proper psychiatric help, and they’re happy with you being at home?

QUINN – Yeah.

MRS DENTON – Then you’re doing all the right things. You’re getting help, you have a fall-back plan of moving out if you need to. And you’re here telling me all about it.

QUINN – Is that enough?

MRS DENTON – It’s as much as you can do. If you’re doing what the experts tell you?

QUINN – Yeah. Everything.

MRS DENTON – Good. And if I see anything that concerns me, I have the information now to help me deal with it.

_He notices that she doesn’t end that sentence with “I’ll tell you right away” – she hasn’t decided, completely, whether he’s a threat or an ally. But she’s going to be Johnny’s ally, and that’s what he wants. Even if she ends up being Johnny’s ally against the threat he poses himself._

QUINN – Thank you. Thank you.

MRS DENTON – For what it’s worth, I wasn’t just being polite earlier. Johnny has absolutely blossomed lately. He’s grown so much in confidence. And I’m certain that has a lot to do with having you around.

QUINN – Yeah?

_He’s surprised._

_She stands up, walks over to a cupboard in the corner of the room, searches for something for a moment, finds an exercise book, brings it back, looks through._

MRS DENTON – Johnny’s diary. Every morning they write down what they did last night, over the weekend, that kind of thing. Just a few sentences most days, and a picture if they have the time. This is an old one of Johnny’s. From when you first… came back on the scene.

_She opens it, shows it to him._

Look through it.

_He does. Page after page of Johnny’s diary, filled with the words “My dad…” Accounts of everything they did together when he first moved to Philly, from “My dad made me hot dogs at his apartment” to “My dad moved in to my house with me and my mom” – capped with a drawing of Quinn with his bags, stepping through a doorway, a Christmas tree in the corner. Then smaller titbits - “My dad read to me” and “My dad watched TV with me”._

_His eyebrows raise, he tries to control the crazy grin he feels spreading across his face._

QUINN – Oh!

MRS DENTON – I think he’s pretty pleased you’re around. I kept that one, kept meaning to send it home with him, I thought you’d like to see it.

QUINN – Wow. Yeah. Let’s not show his mom!

MRS DENTON – Same old story, the poor moms always get taken for granted! Dads get all the headlines.

But really. So far, you’ve brought far more good into Johnny’s life than bad, from what I can see. If things are getting more difficult now, we’ll watch out for that. I don’t say this just to reassure you. I have child protection responsibilites – legal responsibilities. If I see anything – _anything_ – that worries me in Johnny’s behaviour, I’m obliged to act in his best interests.

QUINN – Good. That’s good.

_He closes the book._

MRS DENTON – Will you keep me updated? I don’t want to pry into your personal matters unduly, but the more you’re happy to tell me, the more useful it is. Whether there are any more incidents, whether things are going smoothly.

QUINN – Yes. Of course.

MRS DENTON – Just pop in any time. Or I can give you an email address, if that’s easier.

QUINN – Yes. Yeah. I will.

MRS DENTON – Was there anything else?

QUINN – No. Thank you for seeing me.

MRS DENTON – Thank you for coming in.

_They stand. Look out of the window, where they can see Johnny dangling upside down from the jungle gym._

QUINN – I should probably go out before he bounces his head off the floor.

MRS DENTON – Sure. Have a good evening.

QUINN – You too. Thank you.


	8. The Reckoning - Chapter 3 - I have questions...

_Out in front of the house, Johnny and Quinn kicking a ball about. Quinn's hardly Pelé, but he can stop the ball and kick it back without falling over, which is enough for Johnny. Come a long way since those days he first moved to Philly and[would take Johnny to the park](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11570763/chapters/26340462), watching other dads playing with their kids and wishing he knew how to do it so effortlessly.  
_

_The ball heads into a bush and Johnny goes to get it out, Quinn takes the chance to peel his sweater off, throw it onto the steps of the porch, getting warm. Turns around to find Johnny standing right behind him, holding the ball in his arms, staring down at it. Quinn can see a thought is brewing._

JOHNNY – Dad?

QUINN – Yeah.

JOHNNY – That man you hit.

_He’s about to protest, say I didn’t **hit** him. But stops himself. Tones it down._

QUINN – The man I _hurt_?

JOHNNY – Yeah. At the mall.

Did you do that when you were a spy?

_Here we go._

QUINN – Yeah.

_A pause._

JOHNNY – I don’t want to be a spy any more.

QUINN – Good. There’s a lot of bad stuff that goes with it. It’s important – someone has to keep the bad guys in check. But doing that is… not nice.

JOHNNY – So you only hurt bad guys?

_Holy fuck, the most complicated moral question of them all._

QUINN – I think so. I hope so.

JOHNNY – Did you kill anyone?

_Fuck._

_He sits down on the step. Rubs his face. Looks up at Johnny, standing right in front of him, staring at him intently. Thinks. Reaches out his hand and puts his fingers into Johnny's palm gently, rubs the back of Johnny's hand with his thumb. Speaks softly.  
_

QUINN – You know, there are some things I don’t want to talk to you about. About being an agent. Because they’re not kid’s stuff. It was… very different. Not like being here with you and Katy and mom.

_Releases Johnny's hand, rubs the back of his neck. Exhales. Looks back at Johnny._

You know how scary it was when you saw me the other day? When I got angry? That’s what it was like being an agent. That’s what real violence is like, not the TV kind.

I had to hurt people sometimes, to keep myself safe, and to keep other people safe. That… the way you saw me the other day is how I used to have to be, a lot. But now I’m learning to be different. So I can stay with you guys. That old me is nearly gone.

JOHNNY – What happened to the people you hurt?

QUINN – I don’t know, Johnny. I don’t know. I had to…. I don’t know.

_He thinks. They’re both quiet._

I don’t know.

\----

_In the kitchen with Julia. Drying pans, putting things away after dinner._

QUINN – All this shit with Johnny.

_She looks up._

It’s making me think a lot.

JULIA – About what?

QUINN – Everything. Everything I did. Seeing it through his eyes. I mean… I guess at the mall he found out the difference between real violence and the movies. Real is ugly. Scary. You don’t know it’s gonna end well.

JULIA – Yeah. Well, maybe that’s not a bad lesson.

QUINN – He doesn’t wanna be a spy any more.

JULIA – Oh, well, good, maybe you should hit some more people!

QUINN – I _didn’t_ …

_Once again he checks himself_

QUINN – Yeah.

Well.

I have… I just have… moral questions. I guess.

_She puts down her cloth, gives him her attention properly._

About everything I did. I don’t know where to start with it. And my trip with Max stirred it up. Taking a shot at someone again. I’m a good guy now. _(He blushes a little)_ I mean, I _think_ I am. But I did some stuff that was _not_ good. Back then. What does that make me?

_He shakes his head._

_She just looks at him. She doesn’t have an easy answer._

QUINN – I dunno.

JULIA – Big questions.

QUINN – Yeah.

JULIA – I don’t know if I know the answer.

QUINN – I don’t know if there _is_ an answer.

\----

_Another day._

QUINN – Ju.

JULIA – Yeah?

QUINN – I wanna go to New York.

If that’s OK.

JULIA – Sure.

QUINN – There’s someone I wanna see.

JULIA – Carrie?

QUINN – No. Chaplain at the VA.

JULIA – Oh!

QUINN – All this stuff I keep thinking about.

JULIA – Your moral questions?

QUINN – Yeah.

I mean… I stopped believing in God a long time ago. But Kerry’s not quite right for this. She’s for my… mind, not my morals. And this guy, he… he listened to me. Even when I could hardly speak. Somehow. Meant so much. I figure, if anyone can help me think about this, he can. And I owe him a thank you. I’d like to see him. Tell him I’m doing OK. Now I can actually tell him. Say the words.

JULIA - Sure. Good idea.

You be OK going back there?

_He thinks. Shrugs. Thinks longer._

QUINN - Find out, I guess.

*****Next chapter - we'll rewind and take a look back at Quinn's first encounter with the VA Chaplain, way back when... *****


	9. The Reckoning - Chapter 4 - The Chapel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally part of a full 'Recovery' fic I wrote for Quinn, filling in the gap between s05 and s06. It never saw the light of day, but it's nice to have the chance to throw one or two chapters in to the Shore world - previously [The Visit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14504904/chapters/33897768), which looks back on the time Julia went to visit Quinn at the VA. And now I get to share The Chapel, which I've always had a soft spot for.

_The VA._

_The time drags interminably. Mostly, he’s too depressed, too unmotivated to do anything with it. Sits on his bed with the radio on; sits in the dayroom staring out of the window. Just sits, anywhere, staring into space, willing the mist in his brain to thicken into a dense enough fog that he’ll lose awareness, stop noticing the time ticking slowly by._

_But occasionally the old drive kicks in, just enough for his curiosity to take him wandering the hospital corridors in search of something, anything, he’s not seen before. It’s hardly a black ops mission. Apart from seizures, which could hit anywhere, the greatest jeopardy he faces on his walks is a sudden wave of exhaustion felling him when there’s no chair in sight. Or his attention wavering enough to leave him lost in an unfamiliar corridor. On several occasions people have found him in strange corners of the hospital and had to walk him back to his ward. One time, both things happened at once and he was found by an orderly, curled up asleep on the floor in a distant hallway. It had seemed a sensible move to him, lying down to sleep – better than falling over, and he’s dropped and slept on much worse floors in the desert, but everyone else seemed incredibly aereated by it. Not happy to find patients asleep on corridor floors._

_He’s wandering, slowly, aimlessly, one day when he passes a door he's never noticed open before. Some bright, coloured lights catch his eye and he peers through._

_It's a tiny, beautiful hospital chapel. Not unlike the one Carrie was sitting in, in Berlin, when she was told he would be severely brain damaged. But he'll never know that._

_It's small, simple. A stained glass window at the end, a plain table with an unlit candle in a holder. Just a couple dozen chairs._

_The hospital chaplain is there, quietly arranging some items in a cupboard set into one of the walls. He looks up and sees Quinn._

PASTOR MIKE – Please, do come in.

_Quinn pauses a moment, then steps in. To get a better look at the window as much as anything. The visual auras he gets around bright lights now make them strangely compelling to him. They're weird, but it's like he wants to figure them out, keep looking at them until they start making sense. Which they never do._

_He limps heavily through the door, feeling heavy, awkward, self-conscious._

PASTOR MIKE – Everyone's welcome! Do take a seat.

_He thinks "Why not?" walks to the front row and lowers himself into a seat, left leg stretched stiffly in front of him._

PASTOR MIKE – Do you mind if I....?

_He gestures to the cupboard._

QUINN – No, no…

_Quinn waves his hand in a "be my guest" motion._

_Time passes. The chaplain tidies. Quinn stares at the lights. He feels unusually peaceful. Can't remember when he last felt this way. The chaplain finishes his work but doesn't want to leave this strange, quiet soul, in case he's in need of ministry. He takes a Bible and sits in another of the chairs, placing it in his lap, ready to read. Before he starts, makes an offering –_

PASTOR MIKE – It's a beautiful window.

_Quinn starts a little._

QUINN – Ye... yeah. It's... Yeah.

_He nods and gestures, embarrassed at his lack of eloquence._

_They sit and look at it together for a while. Eventually…_

QUINN – I-I-I like it. Here. Not _here_... _(he gestures towards the door, the hospital) **... here** (he points down at the floor - this room, he means)._

Issss.... qu qu qu...

_He feels his embarrassment rise again, pauses, doubles down his effort_

It's quiet.

PASTOR MIKE – Yes. Very peaceful.

_A moment._

PASTOR MIKE – We all need peace, and it can be very hard to find.

_Quinn suddenly looks round at the chaplain, a stricken expression on his face. A nerve suddenly and unexpectedly touched, his defences down. He nods. Can't think of a single word. Thinks._

QUINN – H-h-h-hard.

_He looks at the floor. Thinks._

QUINN – Hard.

_The chaplain gives him time, but he stays quiet._

PASTOR MIKE – You've had a hard time. Very hard, I think.

_Quinn looks back at him, his eyes those of a frightened little boy. They hold one another's gaze. Quinn looks down at himself. Touches his left hand with his right. Then picks his left arm up, holds it across him, around him, almost as if he's trying to protect it, or comfort it. Looks down at it, then up to the chaplain._

QUINN – This. B-b-b-b-. B-broke. All broke. Me. All broke."

PASTOR MIKE – I'm sorry.

_Quinn looks sadly down at the floor a while._

Can I pray for you?

_He looks up. Never believed, not really. But he is so in need of love. From anywhere. Nods._

_The chaplain places his bible carefully on the chair, moves across and sits next to him._

PASTOR MIKE – What’s your name? Can you tell me?

QUINN – P-Peter.

_The chaplain folds his hands over Quinn’s, closes his eyes, pauses. Quinn looks at his hands, then up at his face, then back to their hands._

PASTOR MIKE – Heavenly Father – Please look down on Peter and bless him with the light of your infinite love. Please keep Peter close to you in his moments of need. Please see his suffering and lift him in your arms. Let him feel the peace of your good grace not just today, but wherever he goes, and whatever should happen to him. For in your arms we are always whole, we always travel with love, and with peace. Amen.

QUINN – A-Amen.

_The chaplain sits a moment longer, and then opens his eyes slowly, keeps his hands where they are. Quinn feels the moment of silence stretch out into a vast, comforting cushion around him. Feels hyper-aware of the entire world. Of the immense tenderness of sitting in a quiet, sunny room, hand in hand with a man he doesn't know, who is prepared to **see** him, to witness his pain, and demand nothing of him.  
_

QUINN – Th-thank you.

PASTOR MIKE – God loves you, Peter.

 _He looks away a little. Tries not to think “Why the fuck did he do this to me, then?” Tries to think of light and love and protection, and all those things he has been living without for so long. Takes a deep breath. Feels, regardless of everything else, grateful for the peace and compassion of the man next to him._

QUINN – Thank you. I like your…

_Looks around him. Can’t think of the word._

…room.


	10. The Reckoning - Chapter 5 - The Reckoning

_He’s been sitting on the bench for a long time. Finally decides. He’s not going to suddenly hit a point where this feels easy. He’s gonna have to go in feeling like this._

_Stands._

_Walks up through the car port, into the entrance hall. The spot where he was tackled to the floor, screamed in pain. His heart beats faster as he remembers the threat of the locked ward, the sense of utter powerlessness. Stands aside a moment to take some breaths. Looks round, completely expecting to see Carrie there. Of course she’s not. Breathes. Breathes._

_Leans back against the wall. Thank God nobody he recognises is on duty. Looks down at his clothes to anchor himself in the present. No baggy sweatpants or grubby T-shirt today. Very softly, under his breath, murmurs -_ _I’m Johnny Quinn. I live in Philadelphia. Today I’m visiting Pastor Mike for one hour only and then I'm going to a hotel and tomorrow I’m going home. I’m wearing tan slip on boots. I’m wearing dark navy jeans. I’m wearing a black shirt.  
_

_He runs his fingers through his hair. Short, clean. Reaches into his pocket - looks to the rest of the world like he's bringing out a handkerchief, but it's the small folded piece of muslin he keeps by his bed, the one Julia presses to his cheek when he has night terrors, to bring him back to reality - smells of Katy, of Julia, of home. Soft and reassuring. Doesn't care these days about looking a little odd occasionally, not as much as he cares about taking care of himself. What a change that is. Presses the soft, warm cotton to his nose and inhales. It smells of love.  
_

_He looks up. The scene has resolved itself. Suddenly it's just a shabby waiting area, nothing more, nothing less._

_Steps up and stands in line for the security desk. Shuffles slowly forward in the queue, looks at the people around him, mostly checking back into their wards. Reaches the front, and takes a moment to stop the world swaying again, the way it did that day. Did so often._

SECURITY – Hello, sir.

QUINN – Hi. I have… I’m meeting… Pastor Mike. Chaplain.

SECURITY – Let me see… OK, Mr Quinn?

QUINN – Yeah.

SECURITY – Sure. Let me give you one of these. You need to wear this pass round your neck the whole time you’re on the property. Would you like someone to show you up?

QUINN – No. No. I know.

_He puts the pass on._

QUINN – Thank you.

_Steps forward. Looks around. Looks down at the pass. VISITOR stamped on it. Thank fuck for that. Reaches down and rubs his left wrist – no ID bracelet there. They used to make him wear it when he used to wander and couldn’t tell people who he was. No bracelet today. Just a bare wrist.  
_

_Walks towards the elevators. Doesn’t press the button right away. Instead, he pulls out his phone. Photos. Flicks through. There’s an album labelled Rescue. All the photos he looks at when his emotions are running wild. Quinn and Johnny. Quinn and Julia. Johnny and Katy. Quinn and Katy. Again and again. All happy. All normal. All real. Absolutely real. Though they seem a million miles away from inside these walls. Stares at his favourite – the four of them in the park, taken by Helen on his phone – for a long time. Zooms right in, looks at each of their faces in turn. Real._

_On an impulse, hits contacts, steps aside from the elevator. Leans against the wall. Calls Julia._

JULIA – Hey.

QUINN – Hey.

JULIA – You OK?

QUINN – Yeah. I’m here.

JULIA – Did you see him?

QUINN – Not yet.

Just wanted to hear your voice.

JULIA – You in the building?

QUINN – Yeah. Weird. Really weird.

JULIA – I bet. Well, this time you’re coming home. OK? Don’t forget that. This time you’re coming home.

QUINN – Yeah.

JULIA – That why you called?

QUINN – Yeah.

_She laughs a little._

JULIA – To make sure I really existed? Wasn’t a hallucination?!

_But he’s deadly serious._

QUINN – Actually, yeah. It is.

_She sobers up._

JULIA – Well, I am. I’m real. And I’m yours. And Johnny is right here – Johnny, shout hi to dad.

JOHNNY – Hi Dad!

JULIA – And you’re gonna go see your guy, then you’re gonna come back here and come home to us. We’re missing you.

QUINN – Thank you.

JULIA – I love you.

QUINN – And me.

JULIA – OK. Call me when you’re done?

QUINN – Sure.

\----

_He stands at the open chapel door a moment. Knocks softly, and goes in._

_Pastor Mike is there. Much the same as the first time they met. Standing, making himself busy with very little. Just being there. He looks up. Smiles._

PASTOR MIKE – Ah! You made it.

QUINN – Yes. I did. Hi.

_He holds a hand out to shake._

PASTOR MIKE – It’s good to see you.

QUINN – You too. If a little… weird being back.

PASTOR MIKE – Of course. It’s been a while.

QUINN – Yeah. Long time. Feels like it. Thank you for agreeing to see me.

PASTOR MIKE – Oh, it’s my pleasure. I was _so_ pleased when I received your email. To hear things are going so well for you.

QUINN – They are. Really… better than I could have imagined. I’ve been lucky.

PASTOR MIKE – Good.

_Suddenly Quinn remembers the prayer. Smiles a little, wonders if maybe he’s been wrong about God all along._

PASTOR MIKE – You look well.

QUINN – I am. So much better than before. Brain injuries… bad, bad news. But I’m doing OK. Much better.

_The chaplain smiles._

PASTOR MIKE – Would you like to go to my office? We can talk in private there.

QUINN – Thank you.

_He leads the way to a nearby office – more pleasant, more comfortable than most rooms in the VA – pot plants, easy chairs. Probably decorated, furnished, by someone other than the VA, Quinn thinks. A church. Or the pastor's own pocket._

_They sit._

PASTOR MIKE – So... I call you Johnny now?

QUINN – Yeah. The CIA and names… always complicated. But I’m Johnny.

PASTOR MIKE – OK, Johnny. How can I help?

_Quinn sits back. He’s an old hand at this now. It might not be Kerry sitting in the other chair, but he knows the score. Gives himself time to think, knows Pastor Mike will wait._

QUINN – Yeah. It’s a biggie.

_He sits. Thinks._

I have… moral questions. About my life.

_The chaplain smiles lightly._

PASTOR MIKE – OK. Well, I guess you came to the right place. I mean, I can’t promise you any answers, I’m afraid, but I’ll certainly listen.

QUINN – Thank you.

_He thinks._

So. It’s not just my name that’s different now. I’m like a new guy now. I mean… maybe not in here… _(he places his fist over his heart)._ But things have shifted so much.

I have a family. I mean… I had them already, but I let them down. But now it’s going great. My kids… are just the sun and the moon and the stars. And their mom, Julia, we’re together again, and she’s an incredible person. I’m… luckier than I ever thought I could be.

PASTOR MIKE – But….?

QUINN – How do I put those two halves of me together?

_The Chaplain nods, recognition in his eyes. He knows this problem._

QUINN – I figure… if anyone knows how to deal with this, you do. Must be around this the whole time, no?

PASTOR MIKE – You’re not the first person, certainly.

QUINN – And I wasn’t just a soldier. I was in the CIA.

_He looks him in the eye._

I was a black ops assassin.

The shit that I did…

How do I look my sweet baby daughter in the eye?

_A pause. Pastor Mike looks very serious. Letting his thoughts settle a moment._

PASTOR MIKE – Why did you do it?

QUINN – What?

PASTOR MIKE – Back then. What motivated you?

QUINN – I believed it. Believed _in_ it. In my country. In the mission. Most of the time. I hope I made the world a better place.

But I took lives. That’s always going to be on my hands. How do I walk in the school gates, or kiss my kids goodnight, with all those corpses behind me?

Look, I have PTSD. I lose it occasionally. I’m being treated. But I scared my son the other day. Lost it with a guy at the mall. It was bad. Seeing him… see me… see the CIA me, the thug, the man who could be violent at the flick of a switch. How can I expect him to believe in me as his dad when I did all the things I did?

When I lost it with that guy, it was shitty. It was ugly and violent and full of hate. Times that by a thousand. That’s my life story. Makes me wonder about the kind of guy I was. What I believed was right. I think that might be changing. And I don’t know what that means for who I was. Big picture, little picture, how you put that all together. Big picture, I thought I was protecting my country. Little picture, I hurt people. I took people’s fathers. Sons. Even a child, once. By accident, but I did it, nobody did it but me. How do I make that right? Ever? And just walk the streets enjoying my family?

How?

_Pastor Mike sits back, nods. Thinks at length. These are two men comfortable with silence._

PASTOR MIKE - Are you a religious man, Johnny? There's no right answer here, I'm not recruiting. But for some people prayer and repentance are a way forward. For others, that's not a useful path. What I say to you here might depend on the way you see life.

_Quinn stares at his feet for a moment, nodding gently. Lifts his head and looks Pastor Mike in the eye, feels no need to lie._

QUINN - I'm not. I don't have faith.

_Another thoughtful pause for them both._

PASTOR MIKE – I don’t have any easy answers. I mean - for anyone, faithful or not. I’m a military chaplain, and I deal with these questions every day. I still don’t have the answers yet – if I did, I’d put them in a book and retire.

Thing is, life is a big fucking mess. We come at it only knowing half the story, changing our minds, trying to survive, learning stuff, forgetting stuff, seeing the goalposts move, seeing our point of view change.

QUINN – So, what. There’s no right and wrong? That means we can’t put things right. Then what’s the point?

PASTOR MIKE – There is… certainly right and wrong. But which is which, is not straightforward. It’s always shades of grey. And it changes. And looking at a picture that’s always changing is a lifetime’s work. It’s never done.

You know, weighing right and wrong against each other… it’s impossible. I know we all want a scorecard. Somewhere we can measure how bad the bad stuff we did was, count off the good stuff against it, see if we level up OK.

QUINN – Isn’t that God’s job? Final reckoning?

PASTOR MIKE – Maybe. Certainly it’s beyond me. And most humans, I think. I mean, what would _you_ put on it? The scorecard? I… don’t know your story. You may have done some terrible things. But some horrific things were also done to you. Unbearable. What does that make the score? Does that make it evens? I don’t know.

_He sits back and thinks for a moment._

You know… the past doesn’t exist.

QUINN – Huh?

PASTOR MIKE – You can’t touch it. You can’t hold it. You certainly can’t change it. It literally doesn’t exist. We sometimes don’t realise that, because the things it made us feel keep coming back. But it’s completely gone. Whatever happened in your life up until now, you cannot unlive it. And nobody else can see it, or touch it, either. It’s disappeared.

And… although the idea of making reparations is tempting – trying to reset the balance – in so many cases it’s just not possible. Would it be possible for you? Track down everyone you think you might have hurt during your service? Their relatives? Make things better for them?

QUINN – No. No it never would. I’d like to. But I don’t even know who they are. They’d probably kill me if we met, if they could.

It’s just not possible. At all.

.

.

.

_They both sit and listen to that last thought for a long time._

_Eventually he sits up. Sighs. Rubs his hand over his face._

QUINN – So I guess I just have to try and be good _now_.

PASTOR MIKE – And that, my friend, is as close to life’s meaning as anything I’ve ever heard.

_Quinn suddenly feels incredibly light. He even smiles. It’s the closest he’s ever going to get to absolution. Not absolution, by any means. But permission to look forward. To make his life right, now, through his own actions. As right as it will ever be. And to put his mind, his energy, his life-force into the future, not the past._

\----

_He walks back through the hospital._

_Down in the elevator._

_For a moment his thumb hovers over the the floor for his ward, at first as a reflex, and then, for a moment, he wonders about going back. Taking a look. Through fresh eyes._

_Nope._

_Goes straight to the exit, hands in his pass at security._

_Walks out of the building, and doesn’t look back._


End file.
